


Entanglement

by Haley3



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Angst, Dreams vs. Reality, Explicit Sexual Content, Flashbacks, M/M, Post-Weirdmageddon, Romantic Relationship, Stan O' War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-25
Updated: 2018-04-15
Packaged: 2019-03-24 01:18:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 25,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13800336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Haley3/pseuds/Haley3
Summary: After the events of Weirdmageddon and when summer comes to an end, Stan and Ford embark on their sea journey on the Stan O' War II. But soon, Ford starts having some strange dreams with a certain someone that is surely dead.But, after all, they're just dreams.Right?





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, that's my first long Billford and I hope you'll like it! I know we are, like, three people, but I hope all three of you will enjoy it XD  
> I will also try to be as regular as possible and post a new chapter each week. I have almost finished translating, so it should work. I hope.
> 
> Of course, since English is not my mothertongue, feel free to tell me if there are some mistakes and to leave a comment <3

"That’s the last one, Mr. Pines."

Soos put the backpack on the front porch of the Mistery Shack. The other bags were ready, zip closed and suitcases locked. The boxes, full of scientific instruments that Ford wanted with them, had already been sent and were waiting for them at their destination. The trunk had left that morning, double"locked and wrapped in protective plastic. Only two suitcases and two backpacks remained.

Stanley looked up at what had been his home for thirty years. Now that he was parting, he found himself full of things to bring, everyday objects, memories. He smiled. And to think that, when he arrived years ago, had only himself and a car full of trash.

"Thanks a lot, Soos." Stan opened a can of Pitt Cola and took a sip. "You’ve been very helpful."

"Are you sure you don’t need anything else?"

"One hundred percent positive." he grinned. "I don’t need business books anymore. And you’ll need the one about anatomy more than me." he gave him a friendly nudge. "Especially when you’ll give “ _ the talk _ ” to your children."

Soos laughed and rubbed the back of his head.

"Dude, first things first." he raised both hands in front of him. "When they’ll defeat all Fight Fighters bosses and beat my highscore, then it’ll be time to become adults."

"These are the times when I think I really made the wrong choice." Stan nodded in the Shack’s direction. "Just try not to destroy it."

"Oh, I wouldn’t do that," Soos replied, "Every time you’ll come back, you’ll find the Shack bigger, cooler and with more glitter."

"Now I'm scared." Stan emptied his can of Pitt Cola. "Anyway: pay attention to the Stanmobile too. Every time I leave the windows open, the gnomes go inside."

"Closed windows, got it."

"And take care of this suit too." Stan nodded to the black uniform with the red ribbon around his neck that Soos was wearing. "You’ll need it to be Mister Mistery."

"Are you sure you want to leave it to me?"

"I won’t need it anymore." he touched his red woolen cap and gave Soos a gentle smile. "These are the clothes I'll wear from now on."

He felt a lump in his throat. The adventure of a lifetime, the journey he always dreamed of. When Ford pulled out that old photograph, during Dipper and Mabel's birthday, Stan felt like a teenager again, sitting on the swing of Glass Shard Beach, with the sound of waves in his ears.

_ "I don’t just want someone to come with me, Stanley. I want it to be you." _

"Mister Pines..."

The waves fell silent, the sea sank back into his mind. Stan shook his head.

"All right." he squeezed his shoulder. "We'll meet again."

Soos's eyes were watery. It was incredible how, despite the years passed, they still had the same bright and innocence that Stan once saw in the child who showed up at the Shack, with a screwdriver in his hand. Now the child was taller than him, the first hairs appeared on his cheeks, he was engaged and had his own business. Yet, in the depths of those eyes, it was still possible to see the hopeful child with a too big shirt.

"I'll make a lot of new attractions," said Soos, "And I’ll clean up the tourists’ pockets. Just like you, Mr. Pines"

"Great." Stan winked at him. "And if those other crooks with their cheap attractions will stand in your way, just take a trip and show them what you can do." Stan approached and spoke into his ear. "The map is in the second drawer of the desk: all the places are marked. Especially that one of the wretched old woman with a black heart."

"Yes sir." Soos nodded. "Even if I don’t want to fight with them... if we could become all friends, it would be much better."

Stan snorted.

"Do as you wish. Although I fear the old woman will be hard to defeat." he raised his fists, with a wide smile. "In case she attacks you, remember..."

Soos raised his fists too.

"Right." said Soos and threw a punch that Stan avoided, bending his head to the side.

"Right." said Stan and threw a punch at him too.

"Parry." Soos answered, parrying with his arm outstretched.

"Aaaand... left hook!" And Stan directed a fist towards him, that stopped a breath from his chin. He tapped it with his knuckles and they both laughed.

"Use those gloves well." Stan wiped the tears of myrth from his eyes. "And, when your son will be old enough, teach him."

"I'll do." Soos smiled. "If life hits him, he will fight back. Just like you always did."

Other tears, different from before, struggled to get out of his eyes. Stan hugged Soos, who returned with a firm grip, like a real fighter.

"I'm proud of you, son."

He heard Soos sniffle. Damn it, he hoped they wouldn’t start crying right away, but hold back until they had to leave. It already had been quite difficult with Dipper and Mabel and a couple of tears escaped him: but at least he managed to control himself, until the bus arrived. This time, they hadn’t even arrived at the bus stop. What would happen when they will have to part?

He gave Soos a couple of firm pats.  _ Do not cry, or I'll cry too and then we'll stay here all day long _ . The boy seemed to get the message: he sniffed once again and finally they parted, with red but dry eyes.

"Ehm..." Soos cleared his throat, "Something’s still missing?"

"I don’t think." Stan looked down at the last bags left and crouched to open the backpack: books, books and more books.

"Uuurgh." he rolled his eyes and pushed away the bag. "Wrong, it’s the king of nerds’. By the way," he raised his head and looked around. "Have you seen Ford?"

"Yes, before." Soos pointed to Stan's shoulders. "He went to the forest."

"And he's not back yet?"

"No."

Stan stood up and turned: the trees moved, the leaves rustled under the wind’s flows. Trunks alternated with patches of bushes, creating a tent that hid the innermost part of the forest.

"What’s he doing there?" Soos asked, perplexed, "He’s been gone for at least one hour."

Stan turned away from the forest and crouched again to search in his backpack.

"He went to say hello to  _ that _ ."

* * *

 

A circle of bare ground had been created around where  _ he  _ was resting.

The wind blew again. A little bird leaned on the stone hat, looked around, beating the black eyes several times, and flew away.

He felt the sun burning his neck and it was not even a hot day: after enduring the temperatures of Dimension 19/, the simple Earth’s sun was nothing, especially at that latitude.

Fall was coming, of course. The lukewarm, kind autumn of the Earth. His first one, after thirty years. The last he saw was right there, in those places. He walked through the forest, breathing the smell of trees, accompanied by the gentle golden warmth of divine light, the light of his Muse...

He clenched his fists, buried in his pockets. The statue didn’t move, not a sneer curved that fixed eye, not a light pierced the gray of the stone. It simply stood there, facing him, waiting for his gesture.

And Ford stood still, looking at the statue in silence. There was nothing he could say, no sentence that would make sense. He could tell him that he hated him and that he ruined his life. He could tell him to go to hell, wish him to burn in flames forever and pay for everything he had done. He could tell him his regret, because they could have really changed the world and do great things, if only he had not revealed himself to be a mad demon, bringer of destruction.

But what would have been the point, anyway? Whom he would have talked to? In front of him there was nothing but a grave, still and silent stone. Surely he would not answer.

Beyond the forest and the trees that hid them, the sound of a horn broke their silent stare. Ford looked away and focused behind him: the sun was high. How long was he there? He and Stan had to go get the bus, reach the port and get on board. They had to leave.

He turned back to look at the statue, its arm outstretched, the wide"open eye that seemed to invite him, beg him,  _ help me get out of the ground, Ford _ .

The man swallowed, opened his lips.

"So… goodbye." was all he could say.

The statue did not answer, the arm remained extended. Nothing but stone, unable to understand and answer. The demon was dead.

And he would burn in hell.

Ford turned and walked away, leaving behind Bill Cipher's earthly grave.


	2. Chapter 1

This night, the sky is full of stars.

Ford knows very well that this is not the true sky. In the real world he could never see all these galaxies shining so close to the Earth. In the real world there’s not even the green hillside on which he is lying.

And then, in the real world, he could not lay his head on the Muse's lap and feel his hands stroke his hair.

_ Unfortunately _ .

"It's incredible: the more I go on with the calculations, the higher the technological level become," explains Ford, his gaze turned to the stars, "I'm not just talking about the portal’s construction itself: all the machines and equipment to make it work must be built with the best materials too. I'm afraid that all the alien technology in the Omega Crash Site won’t be enough."

"Don’t waste it for the outline stuff, use it for the main piece!" answers the Muse, cheerful as always, "The other devices can work with common metal."

"But the technological gap that would develop..."

"It won’t be so big, if you connect everything the right way." Bill gives him a tap on the head. "You’ll need a skilled technician: once the machines are attached, the hyperdrive will do most of the job."

Ford bends his head as far back as he can, trying to meet Bill's gaze.

"So even if the equipment will be hundreds of years old, compared to the alien technology, the system will remain stable and enough energy will be transmitted to the portal?"

"Exactly!"

"But... how is that possible?"

Bill laughs, strokes his hair, rolls the locks between his fingers. The stars shine white and blue: Ford feels their shimmer on him, inside him, filling him with joy.

"You know what entanglement is, Fordsy?"

Ford rubs his chin.

"I’ve heard of it," he replies, "It's a concept of quantum mechanics, if I'm not mistaken. About particles."

"Yes," Bill confirms, "Basically, according to entanglement, when two particles come into contact once, from that moment they’ll remain linked even when they’ll be far away. This means that if the quantum state of one of the two particles changes, the state of the other will change in turn."

"And this concept adapts to the portal?" asks Ford. "How?"

"Easy!" Bill replies, "When you’ll put coordinates and turn on the portal, a link will be established between the particles of your Dimension and those of the closest Crossroads Dimension. By then, even if the portal loses power, the two Dimensions will remain linked anyway."

"Therefore I can open and close the connection as many times as I want, just by changing the quantum state of the particles in my Dimension?"

"That’s right!" Bill praises him. "After the first connection, you’ll just need to change the state of your Dimension’s particles, so those of the Crossroads Dimension will change in turn and the link will open again. Intuitive as always, Sixer!"

Ford smiles, shines like the stars above him, delighted by the kind compliments of his Muse.

"But," he points out, "Entanglement works only for microscopic particles. On the macroscopic scale, we don’t see atoms working this way."

"Only because you humans have small eyes and limited vision, so you haven’t been able yet to understand how it works on the interdimensional plane." Bill taps the rim of his glasses, in a tender gesture. "But that's how it works throughout the Multiverse: if you want to open a portal, you need to know entanglement and how to connect to a Crossroads Dimension."

"So it is not possible to connect two Dimensions directly?"

"It's much more complicated," Bill explains. "You should know the quantum state of the particles of the Dimension you want to connect to. Instead, it’s easier with a Crossroads Dimension: its particles are variable and naturally predisposed to entanglement with those of other Dimensions - in this case, yours. So you won’t need to know their quantum state, because they’ll adapt to yours!"

"I see," Ford wonders. "And how will I recognize it? How will I understand that I opened the portal the right way in a Crossroads Dimension?"

"Mmmmh..." Bill ponders, turns the brown locks between his fingers. "Above all, you’ll see colors: bright colors that spin, lights everywhere and bands of asteroids. In addition, you will see portals open in other Dimensions."

"Thus, the Crossroads Dimension is quite large."

"It depends on how you see it."

"It has a name?"

"Sure!" he replies, "It's called " _ Nightmare Realm _ "."

"Really?" Ford looks up at Bill. "How did it get the name? Is it a dangerous place, perhaps?"

"Lots of Dimensions have strange names," Bill replies "It's a simple crossroads, and it's the closest connecting point from which you'll be able to access the Multiverse." he grabs his cheeks with both hands. "Think about how lucky you are! Not only you’ll be the first human to prove that interdimensional travel is possible thanks to entanglement, but you will also find the source of Weirdness for your Unified Theory!"

Ford laughs, overflowed with happiness. His Muse is absolutely right: with an opened and functioning portal, the interdimensional journey would become reality and his Grand Unified Theory of Weirdness would provide an answer to all the mysteries, of Gravity Falls and the world. He would receive prizes and awards, the other scientists would applaud him as the greatest of their time.

He looks at the stars that shine above him: he was flying with wings spread out, high towards the deserved glory.

_ If only Icarus could see me now! _

Ford places his hands on Bill’s, turns his head and lays a kiss on one of his palms. That marvelous future would have remained only a dream, without his Muse. The idea of the portal, its design, the use of alien materials from Crash Site Omega... he would never have had those intuitions, if the Muse had not appeared in his dreams to ignite his mind and fill him with superior knowledge.

_ If all this will happen, I owe it all to you. _

Bill laughs and Ford knows he read that passionate thought in his mind. He turns to leave a kiss on his Muse’s other hand and leans back to meet his gaze.

"And you?" he asks. "Will I find you too the Multiverse? Will I see you in reality?"

"Of course you will, Fordsy!" answers Bill, enthusiastic. "It’ll be a pleasure to meet you, face to face!"

Ford raises his head from Bill's legs and turns to him, propping himself up on one elbow. His Muse shines more than the moon, more than the stars, he’s a small sun of omniscient knowledge. One day not too far, that light will welcome him in the real world and not only in his dreams.

The thought alone provokes a funny jerk in his chest. Ford leans toward his Muse, lowers his eyelids and puts his lips on Bill’s golden surface. The contact sends a small shock of static against his lips. He puts his free hand on Bill, caresses his side and even that touch makes a slight shock pass through his fingers.

"You've done so much for me," says Ford, leaving another light kiss, "You still do."

Bill places his hands around him: one leans on the back of his neck, the other dives into his hair and pulls Ford closer.

"I'm your source of inspiration, Fordsy!" he laughs. "That's why I'm here! So you can reach the greatness you deserve."

With a little laugh, Bill lets himself fall on the grass, pulling Ford down with him. Ford leans closer, stands over his lying Muse, Bill's legs stroke his shoulders. He caresses Bill’s surface, warm shocks of electricity dancing under his fingertips. Bill's light shines on him, sweeps away the darkness of the evening and lights the grass around them, just like a sun.

_ His  _ sun.

"I've been so lucky to meet you," Ford smiles. "Sometimes, it seems almost impossible that it really happened."

"It had to happen," Bill replies, as if it were obvious. His hand moves up and down along the back of Ford's head, causing him a pleasant electric tingling. "It has already happened and will happen in other futures."

"Through all times?" asks Ford. The breath trembles between his lips. "I would meet you in all Dimensions?"

"Not in all." Bill taps him on the tip of his nose. "There are Dimensions in which you never called me."

"And what happened there?"

"Nothing." Bill’s hand moves from the back of his head to his forehead, combs his hair, rolls a lock around his finger. "You lived for years in Gravity Falls without ever being able to elaborate your great Theory. You tried to publish some articles about the strange things you saw, but nobody believed you. Your teachers thought you made up everything and took your funds away. Your old college friends forgot you, your family left you. You lived alone, in a shack near the woods, away from everyone, consumed by Alzheimer, all days spent staring into distance, without remembering even your own name. Until one day you lost yourself into the woods, fell from a slope and hit on a rock, that opened your skull in half. And you became food for bears."

Ford pulls himself back, looks away from the Muse. Bill’s hands block him, one grabs his shoulder and the other leans on his cheek, forcing Ford to bring his eyes back on him.

"Don't feel sorry for those Dimensions," he says, "Those Ford were weak, unable to fight for their goals. They were not half as good as you."

The words of his Muse melt his anguish, disperse the horrible mental images - the disease, the fall, his brain split up the middle - and bring him back, in his Dimension, in his dream, with its beloved source of inspiration. He's not that Ford, he's a much stronger Ford.

He smiles.

"Thank you."

He leans over Bill and lays another soft kiss on his golden surface, which causes him a small shock of static electricity. Another kiss, another shock. Every kiss, a thrill against his lips. Every thrill makes his fervor stronger, his kisses more adoring.

He would love to stay there and kiss his Muse forever.

Bill runs his fingers into Ford’s hair and down to the back of his head. He caresses the hairline, giving him goosebumps. Ford kisses him again on that skin made of silk and steel, runs his fingers over the bricks. Bill's eyelashes brush against his forehead, flicker when Ford raises his head and looks at him.

"What about you?" he asks.

"Me?"

"What did you do, in the Dimensions in which we never met?"

Bill's hands cup Ford's cheeks.

"I ignored them," he answers, "That’s why I'm here now."

Ford’s eyes widen.

"Are you saying that there are no other Bill in the Multiverse?"

"Pfff, of course not." Bill rolls his eye. "I’m one of a kind."

"I know."

His Muse laughs, a hand slips to scratch Ford under his chin.

"What a charmer."

"Not as much as you." Ford says, with a smile. He leans again on Bill and leaves another kiss on his surface. The Muse’s calm glow makes the grass greener and its scent more penetrating. Ford takes a deep breath: smell of grass, evening, summer.

"I can’t help it if I’m an omniscient, omnipotent and - let's face it - high-class Muse." Bill answers.

"With great regularity too," adds Ford, laughing, "I love your sides." and places a kiss on one of the edges.

Bill gives him another tap on the nose.

"Awww, you sure know how to win your Muse, Fordsy."

Ford leans his cheek on Bill's surface, his hand run along the raised edges of the bricks. Bill's fingers slide back into his hair and caress them, gently. Ford sighs: he might as well fall asleep, in his own dream, safe into his Muse’s arms.

"Why, me?" he murmurs, with husky voice and such a low tone, that he is not even sure Bill heard it. "Why, among all the Fords in the Multiverse, you’ve chosen me?"

"But it’s obvious, Sixer! " Bill says, lively, "Because you’re the only one who can build a working portal! Of course the other Fords will receive prizes and awards, but none of them will succeed in achieving true glory. That’s reserved for you, when you’ll finish the portal: the big project that will change your life forever."

"How can you be so sure that I'll be the right one?" Ford props himself again on the ground, to look Bill in the eye. "And what if I fail? What if it doesn’t work?"

Bill grabs his cheeks. In his eye flashes images of the project, formulas, the half-built portal, the complete portal, a dazzling blue light.

"You’re the Stanford Pines that will prevail over all others," he tells him, prophetic. "You’ll be able to open the portal and, from that moment on, your name will be known throughout the Multiverse."

" _ Throughout the Multiverse _ ". Those words echo in his ears, whisper in his mind, caress his chest. Ford closes his eyes and, through the lowered eyelids, he feels Bill's golden light around him, dispelling his doubts and questions. He was not just a Stanford, he was  _ the _ Stanford. The one his Muse searched for and chose throughout the Multiverse.

Oh, how complex was fate in letting  _ him  _ lie into his Muse’s arms!

"I was really lucky," Ford admits. He opens his eyes, filling them with Bill's warm light. He leans over and puts another kiss on him, as a token of gratitude. "I'll do everything to make you proud of me."

"That’s the spirit!" Bill praises him, with another friendly touch on the tip of the nose. "I wouldn’t have chosen you, otherwise. And now I wouldn’t be here with you."

Ford leans over him.

"I won’t let you regret that either."

Bill laughs and runs his fingers through Ford’s hair again.

* * *

 

The wind blew, bringing the smell of salt and ocean. Ford clasped his hands behind his head and lowered his eyelids: the earth was warm beneath his back, the golden wheat swaying in high ears all around him. Higher up, instead of the sky, the blue mass of the sea filled his gaze, with darting waves instead of clouds.

Besides, everything was possible inside a dream.

Ford focused on the waves and the dark shapes that were moving below - or above? -: a fin, a tentacle, a bulbous shape... were they fish? Or maybe mermaids, giant octopuses, lethal jellyfish? A giant shadow: a whale? A thinner one: a black eel, perhaps.

He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. The wheat’s rustle was nothing but a pleasant whisper, echoing through his dreamscape. The shadows that moved above created shows of light and shadow that he felt through closed eyelids. He might fall asleep, in his own dream.

The wheat’s rustle stopped, the landscape fell silent. Ford opened his eyes and concentrated: a gust of wind bent the grain... which remained bent.

Uh. That was quite unusual. He raised an arm and tapped a ear of corn: it remained motionless, as if fossilized. But he was having a lucid dream and, in those moments, the landscape always responded to his wishes.

_~~ It is a lucid dream, right? ~~ _

The splashing of water caught his attention and Ford looked up: from the sea-sky emerged a long black ribbon, which descended towards him. At the end, the ribbon ended with a four-fingered hand. Was it the arm of an aquatic giant? Or one of the Great Old Ones?

_ WARM. _

"What?" Ford looked around, but the wheat was silent. He propped himself up on his elbows and tried to get up: the black hand reached his chest and pushed him back to the ground, a sharp and nasal laugh exploded around him.

A far too familiar laugh.

_ Impossible _ .

Laughter increased in volume, the hand clawed at his chest. Ford grabbed the giant arm and tried to fight it off, growling. It was smooth and icy, a steel block painted in vantablack, impossible to move. The wheat laughed again about him, with that laugh so absurdly familiar, so absurdly  _ frightening _ .

_ THERE’S NOTHING I CAN’T DO. _

"Stop playing these games!" Ford shouted, "Show yourself!"

_ AS YOU WISH. _

The gigantic arm trembled, its vantablack skin spread out, covered the ocean and fell like rain on the wheat, turning off its light. The fingers melted on Ford’s chest, leaving trails as black as oil. Ford trudged backwards, trying to escape the rain, drops that left huge black spots spreading across the ground. He protected his eyes with one arm...

He lowered it and looked around. There was no grain left, no soil, no ocean: just black all around.

And, hovering in front of him, the demon that must have died.

Ford opened his mouth.

"You…!"

Bill Cipher dropped himself into Ford and landed on his stomach. He put both hands on his chest and leaned to look at his face.

"Stanford, my old chap!" he exclaimed. "What a pleasure to see you again!"

The demon’s voice pierced his ears, his weight was concrete - as it could be, in a dream. His eye was narrowed in a smile.

It was too much. Ford trembled with rage.

"Get out of here!" shouted. He raised a hand, to push him away. Bill snapped his fingers and a blue chain rose from the floor, closed around Ford's wrist and tugged it back, over his head.

Ford let out a gasp. He lifted his other arm and another fluorescent chain encircled his wrist and pulled it back. Ford looked up as much as he could, stretched his arms as high as possible: the chains allowed him to lift them just a couple of inches above the floor.

A wave of anger made him clench his teeth and shake his arms again, with no result. Bill laughed, watching his useless efforts.

"Stop it!"

Ford took a deep breath.  _ This is my Mindscape. This is my territory _ . He learned to control his mind, to bury all his thoughts under the wheat and leave only the landscape of his present on the surface. He was perfectly able to free himself from a couple of stupid chains. He concentrated on them, imagined them becoming sand and running away.

Instead, he felt two more chains gripping his ankles.

_ Oh, come on! _

"Dammit!" he snapped. "Let me go!"

Bill laughed again.

"Oh, Fordsy, how cute you are!" he exclaimed. "Did you forget that I am the master of the mind? There’s no thought more powerful than mine! Anyway, you can’t kick me out of here"

"Of course I can," Ford said, "You’re just part of the dream I'm having right now. In a couple of minutes, everything will change and you’ll disappear."

Bill giggled.

"Do you think I'll be offended by hearing such nonsense? " Bill reached out and pinched Ford’s cheek. "I'm not the Bill of your sleeping mind! You know very well that I'm alive."

"This time your deceptions won’t work, Cipher," Ford interrupted him. "I’m back home, Stanley and I defeated you. You're dead and you won’t make me doubt this."

"Pfff, sure." Bill rolled his eye. "I’m “dead”."

"You are!" Ford said. "I’ve seen your grave! I spent two and a half months visiting it every day!"

Bill straightened up, his hand fell back to Ford's chest. His figure flickered like an old TV. He settled, flickered again, accompanied by sparks of blue electricity.

"Bi... Bill?" Ford called.

Bill blinked and the flicker ceased.

"If I'm dead, then why I’m here?" he asked, the tone of sincere question.

Ford fell silent, taken aback as Bill was. Why was he  ~~ alive ~~ there?

Bill looked at his hands, searching for an answer in his palms. His black pupil moved from his palms, to Ford's face.

"It was you."

"Wh... what?"

"You called me."

Ford gasped.

"But that’s... absolutely not!"

"It was you!" Bill repeated, his voice full of delight. He crawled up to reach Ford’s head and squeezed his cheeks with both hands. "My little human was lonely without me, after all this time!"

"Get off!" Ford shook his head, struggling to free himself from the demon's steel grip. He raised his arms: the chains tightened, without breaking.

"Fordsy, you're so full of surprises!" Bill moved his cheeks up and down. "I knew I’d chosen the right one, but I didn’t think you had this trick up your sleeve!"

"What the hell are you talking about?"

Bill laughed.

"You’re bound to me," he replied, as if it were obvious. "Your feelings for me were so strong, that they let you call me back here, in your mindscape," the eye bent into a smile. "Entanglement, remember?"

Ford snorted, exasperated.

"That’s absurd!" he exclaimed, "I didn’t brought you back from the dead. And... and what I felt for you died years ago." he glared at him. "You are just one... sort of mental projection created by me..."

"... that chained you in your own dream and doesn’t let you go?" Bill concluded for him. He ran his thumb on Ford’s lower lip. "If I were you, I would ask myself a few questions, Fordsy."

Ford shook his head again.

"We’re not bound," he answered. "It’s impossible to bring living beings back to life only with the mind."

"Oh, but you don’t know that!" Bill replied, "You certainly don’t have the breadth of my knowledge! And I'm certainly not a common living being! Or maybe you know everything about how afterlife works? You visited a lot of Dimensions in the thirty years when you were fleeing from me: the afterlife was one of these? How far is it from your Mindscape to make me reach this place?"

"Stop it," Ford growled. "Shut up. Stop talking."

Bill sighed, delighted.

"My Ford," he slided his hands down Ford’s neck. "So bound to me."

"I’m no longer bound to you!" he answered vehemently. He leaned toward Bill, as long as he was allowed by the chains that blocked him. "I'm no longer your pawn! I don’t feel anything for you anymore and you’re nothing for me! It's all over, leave me alone!"

"Shshshsh." Bill put a finger on his lips, silencing him. Ford tried to bite him, but Bill withdrew his finger and Ford’s teeth closed on nothing.

"How feisty you are!" Bill laughed and nudged him on the nose. "There are millions of meatsacks that, at your age, cannot even stand up. Look how active you are, instead! Going around the Multiverse must have done you good!"

"I didn’t go there to have a good time," he answered with clenched teeth, "I had to run away because of you."

"Don’t lie to me, Fordsy," Bill said, "I know you had fun! You made many new friends! You’ve done your little, adorable smart guy’s research!" With the index finger, he pulled the edge of the sweater. "You've even made a new tattoo! I don’t really agree with the subject, though: I would have preferred something more elegant - like  _ me  _ \- instead of that...  _ thing _ . But you're lucky, because I need just a snap of fingers to turn your horrible tattoo into something that friends will envy you!"

Ford struggled.

"Stay away from me!"

"Come on, Fordsy! What, you don’t trust me anymore?"

"I don’t trust you  _ in general, _ " he retorted. "You lied and deceived me!"

"Lied? Me?" Bill opened his eyes and put a hand on his shape, outraged. "But I didn’t lie to you at all!"

"Oh, please," Ford rolled his eyes. "Now don’t try to...! "

"What did I say to you that didn’t happen?" Bill interrupted him. "I told you that the portal would open on the Nightmare Realm and so it was. I told you that you would see me and so it was. I told you that the portal would have made you famous and so it was..."

"This is not...! "

"I told you that you would visit the Multiverse and so it was. I told you that your name would be known and so it was."

"My name is known because I'm a  _ wanted man _ ," said Ford, treading on the last word, "Because of  _ you. _ "

"But you're famous!" Bill raised his arms up. "Everyone knows who you are! Isn’t that the most important thing?"

"No."

"Boo, how grumpy you’ve become." Bill dropped his arms. "You're just a grumpy, old man." he put a hand in his hair, passed his locks between the fingers. "My old, grumpy Fordsy."

Ford tried to wriggle again. Bill's other hand rested on his cheek and began to draw slow circles with his thumb.

"I like how you became, after these thirty years," he said, looking at his face. "Time improved you. Your body is stronger, your mind sharper... I like your hair too, more now then when they were brown." he tied a lock around his finger. "Silver goes well with gold."

Ford shook his arms again, tugging the chains unsuccessfully. With a growl, he tilted his head sideways and tried to bite Bill's hand.

"I like your teeth too, Fordsy." Bill laughed. "If you show them again, I'll pull them off and keep with me."

Ford tightened his lips and glared at him.

"Why are you here?" he asked.

"Because  _ you  _ are the one who called me back here!"

"I told you it's impossible," he snapped, "I don’t want to see you again, so get out"

"Come on, Fordsy, there's no need to lie." Bill gave him another friendly tap on the tip of his nose. "Maybe, when you're awake, you believe yourself when you say you hate me... but here we both know what you really want."

Ford felt his cheeks tingle with embarrassment.

"It was many years ago," he answered. "There's nothing left between us now."

"You’re wrong," Bill replied. He put a hand on his cheek. "Once the bond has been established, the particles will continue to influence each other, even millions of kilometers away." he passed his thumb on Ford’s lower lip. "Even through so far away, you’re still mine."

His touch was static electricity, his finger was silk and steel. Bill bent his thumb down, letting Ford's lips open.

With a chuckle, he left Ford’s face and raised himself in midair. A snap of fingers and Ford felt himself pulled up by an invisible force, which compelled him to sit. His arms fell to his sides, the chains shifted off the floor, as if it were made of mercury.

Bill lowered again, until he sat on Ford's lap, and reached for him.

"Take me in your arms and kiss me."

Ford's hands trembled, his entire body trembled. He shook his head weakly.

"It's just a dream," Bill said, "When you’ll wake up, none of this will exist anymore. Kiss me."

_ It's just a dream. _

Ford put his arms behind Bill’s shape and lifted him to his face. Bill grabbed the neck of his sweater and pulled Ford to him, shifting his eyelids into a mouth, to press on Ford’s lips in a deep kiss.

Ford closed his eyes and his whole body shuddered at the contact with those lips so electric, so alive, so  _ familiar _ . Bill put both arms around his neck, his fingers sank into Ford's hair. He drew him closer, clinging to the back of his neck, clinging to his locks, even closer, even tighter, passionate.

Ford deepened the kiss, pressed his nails against the immovable surface of Bill, savoring every shock, every electric tingle, every caress of the hungry tongue that filled his mouth. Bill's hands ran through his hair, their touch was fire that burned his skin and his chest. He moaned and held Bill tighter, searching for the touch of his tongue, tied to him,

 

_ Entanglement, Fordsy _

 

even after life. Even in death.


	3. Chapter 2

His Muse wants to play with him and Ford is happy to satisfy his curiosity.

The delicate swish of silk against his closed eyelids is inebriating and full of expectation. Ford swallows when he feels the same gentle caress around his wrists.

"Sight is such a all-encompassing sense." the Muse's voice is everywhere in the Mindscape, in front of and behind him, whispers against his ears and sends hot  shivers down his back. "It never gives way to the others. Yet other senses are also fundamental!"

The tip of a finger touches his bare arm and almost makes Ford jump. A second finger joins the first one, touching him a little higher on the arm. Together they begin, one at a time, to ascend to his shoulder, leaving behind a trail of goosebumps and the tingling echo of their touch. Ford tries to stay still, but all his nerves and receptors are focused on following the little march of those two fingers.

"Think about touch, for example," continues Bill, "All those things you can only feel with your skin."

The two fingertips arrive on the shoulder and Ford feels the warmth of a whole palm against his bare skin. Bill pushes him backwards, Ford complies and lets Bill lie him down on the bed. The silk of the blankets is a caress against the shoulder blades, its rustle whispers promises into his ear.

"Raise your arms above your head."

Ford obeys. The silk tightens around his wrists, forces him to pull his arms higher: with his knuckles, Ford touches something cylindrical and cold. It must be the headboard.

"Exactly." the Muse, always aware of his thoughts, rewards Ford by scratching him under his chin. "Even if it was easy! It will take more to improve your sense of touch."

The four fingers on his naked chest stroke him with circular movements.

"Let’s play a game," Bill continues, "You’ll have to distinguish between the touch of my hands and the one of a copy. No help and no sight allowed. Are you in?"

Ford swallows. His heart beats with such force that it seems to come out of his chest and every beat throbs in his ears. Bill's hand continues to send him pleasant little shocks by stroking his chest.

"Okay." agrees.

"You have only three attempts." Bill challenges him. "And if you fail the first three times, you're officially a buzzkill."

"I won’t be wrong so soon," answers Ford, positive, "I would recognize your hands everywhere."

"O-ooooh," Bill says, his tone full of flattery, "How bold we are, smart guy! All right, let's see how you deal with it!"

The hand leaves his chest. Ford swallows and waits. He cannot see it, but Bill's presence is everywhere, it makes his skin tingle, lifts the hair on the back of his head: he knows Bill is looking at him, considering where to start, and that thought makes his heart beat faster.

A hand rests on his arm and gives him a long caress, from the wrist, to the elbow, to the shoulder. He does not understand how many fingers there are, but the palm is warm and smooth.

"Copy," says Ford.

"That’s right." the Muse praises him. A finger follows his jawline, rise to the lower lip and goes slowly from one side to the other. The fingertips press against the soft skin and reach to the upper lip. A warm touch, which conveys sparks of electricity.

"This is you," murmurs Ford against the finger and leaves a kiss on it. Bill chuckles.

"Right."

Another silky touch, two fingers that caress his stomach from side to side. Ford feels goosebumps where fingers pass.

"Copy."

A hand goes up along his side, fingers encircle and tighten his flesh. Ford feels an embarrassing warmth rise from below the belly.

"Co... copy."

"Wrong," answers the Muse. The hand on his side holds him stronger, while a second hand presses him down against the mattress and Ford quivers, unable to resist him, not wanting to resist him. He feels crushed by that firm grip, he knows that those hands could nail him there and slip between his legs and take him in every possible way, until he is reduced to a panting and breathless mess...

The double grip disappears and the lustful thoughts dissipate from his mind. Ford starts to feel hot and the pants are getting tight: he tightens his legs and tries to focus back on the touch. His Muse knows what he feels, but not to what extent his passion goes. Perhaps, one day, he would have been brave enough to...

A delicate and threadlike touch against his side breaks his thoughts and makes him tremble with laughter. Ford writhes, tries to escape the tickle, laughing to tears.

"Ahahahah, oh God, no, stop!" he exclaims while laughing, "That’s not even a hand!"

"But it’s fun," replies the Muse. "See, you're having fun too!"

Ford keeps laughing and fidgeting.

"Stop, stop please!"

The Muse satisfies him, the feather disappears. Ford manages to take a deep breath and feels something hit his knee.

He waits and the tap repeats: it's something small and hard that beats against the top of the knee. But what? Another object?

"It’s the knuckle of a hand," answers the Muse. "But _which_ hand?"

"Come on, it's too hard!" complains Ford, laughing. "Can I have some help?"

"No help." Bill reminds him.

"But in theory, there must be only hands involved and certainly not feathers."

"You said well, " _in theory_ "," Bill replies. A new tap against the knee. "Come on, guess!"

"But this is intuition, not touch!"

"Guess," the Muse insists.

"Fine." Ford gives up. "Uhm... is that you?"

The knuckle rests against his knee, then moves away.

"You were just lucky."

Ford can not stop himself from smiling and he feels a grin spread on his face. Bill slaps his knee.

"That’s you too."

"Ahah, very funny," Bill replies with his lovely sulky tone.

Ford waits, still smiling. A hand slips behind his thigh and squeezes a buttock. Ford jumps and blushes furiously, taken by surprise.

"Bill! "

"Wrong," gloats the Muse, "It was a copy."

The hand slips away. Ford feels his face on fire, his heart beating so hard that wants to pop out of his chest.

"That's not fair," he tries, embarrassed.

"Of course it is. There are no off-limits zones!" a hand moves sinuously along his chest, until reaches his neck. "You’re _all_ mine."

His chest warms at those words and his stomach makes a funny jerk. He still feels his cheeks hot.

"Yes," answers Ford, fervently, "I'm all yours."

The hand on his neck continues to rise slowly, the fingertips caress behind the ear. Warm and pleasant touch, a hint of nails that tickle the lobe.

"Copy," murmurs Ford, hoarsely.

"Right," the Muse praises him.

A new hand tries to slip between him and the bed and Ford arches to leave some space. The hand reaches his back and rises, four fingers that dwell on each vertebra of his spine. Big fingers, slightly rough, warm, with an electric touch.

"Copy."

A hand dips in his hair, fingers run through his skin, roll Ford’s locks.

"That’s you."

"I am," confirms the Muse. "But just because I love your hair."

Again a threadlike touch, this time at the tip of his nose. Ford wriggles again.

"Come on, Bill!"

The Muse bursts out laughing.

"You're so funny!" the feather disappears from the nose and reappears, tickling a nipple.

"Bill!"

The Muse laughs again.

"Can you at least respect the rules that you set?"

"And then where would the fun be?" Bill replies. He pokes the tip of his nose.

"That’s you," answers Ford.

"Yep."

Another finger goes around his navel, tickling him with small electric shocks.

"That’s you again."

"Exactly."

Nails run through his chest in a slow caress.

"Copy."

Knuckles move on his lips, up and down. Ford kisses them.

"That’s you."

"Very good." praises the Muse.

Two small, delicate hands rest on his cheeks.

"Now?"

"You." Ford tilts his head against his right hand and rubs his cheek against his palm.

"Right again," confirms Bill.

The hands on his cheeks disappear. A finger touches his chest, descends along the abdominals: a finger too thin, all bone.

"Copy."

Something caresses his ear again, something moist that draws circles against it. That touch causes him a thrill of pleasure.

"But this isn’t a finger," Ford says, weakly.

"You don’t like it?"

"I didn’t say that," he answers and immediately feels himself drown in embarrassment. Bill laughs.

A hand leans on his chest and fingers stroke a nipple. They move slowly, from one side to the other, letting the fingertips hesitate against the delicate skin. Ford feels it stiffen and swallows: he does not know how much he is blushing right now, but his cheeks feel like a fire.

"So?"

"Eh... " Ford clears his throat. "You?"

"Right."

Two hands caress him from his bust to the navel. They are hot and electric and Ford arches to their touch, searching for more. The hands reach the waistband of his pants and move away.

"So?" asks Bill.

"It was you."

"Congrats Fordsy, you're really good at this game!" the Muse praises him. A hand rests on his leg and slides to caress the inner thigh. Even through his trousers, Ford feels the warmth of Bill’s palm. "How about adding a bit more challenge?"

"A... bit more?" Ford swallows. His throat is dry.

"Just a tiny bit." the hand moves, cups between his legs and a shock of pleasure makes Ford shake from head to toe. "There are no off-limits zones, right?"

Ford inhales, exhales and his breath is trembling.

"No."

"And you’re all mine, right?"

Ford swallows.

"Yes."

The hot fingers rise again, reach the waistband of his trousers.

"Let’s make this more challenging, then."

With a little rustle, Ford feels the button loosen and the pants widen around his hips.

* * *

 

After two days of rain, the weather was finally clearing. Ford peered at the horizon with his binoculars: where sea and sky met, both were clear and blue. They would have had weather in their favor, at least for another day.

Of course, the more they went north, the harder it would have been to have beautiful days. But for what little there was, it was worth taking advantage of it.

He lowered his binoculars and his gaze was captured by the golden reflection of the sun's rays on the water. Bright light, like that of the damn triangle.

He frowned and turned his back to the sea, but his mind was already repeating images of the dream: Bill Cipher who appeared before him, who sat on his chest and told him that he was back.

_“Your feelings for me were so strong, that they let you call me back here. Entanglement, remember?”_

What nonsense. The dead did not come back to life and certainly could not return, just because someone had thought of them.

Ford sighed. That strange dream was probably a side effect of the departure from Gravity Falls: he had spent two and a half months visiting Bill's statue every day before he sailed with Stanley. That was a consolidated routine and he remembered dreaming about the statue a couple of times, when he still was in Gravity Falls.

But now, after two weeks at sea, the routine’s end had touched the memories of Bill stored in his mind. They reappeared at random, giving shape to an absurd dream, in which Bill did what he did best: scare him to death.

He laughed. Peace was not really for him: even when he was surrounded by flat sea and total calm, his mind preferred to scare him with fanciful dreams in which Bill came back to haunt him.

His cheeks tingled at the memory of Bill's hands touching him. He could almost feel phantom fingers dive into his hair, hold him, pull him toward that mouth.

_“You’re bound to me”_

Ford closed his lips and looked down. It was a dream, no doubt. But that kiss kept coming back in his mind, fresh and alive, all too real. He raised one hand and rested it on his lips: he felt the blood pulsing in his veins, his breath weak and thin. And, still vivid, Bill's hand rising to the back of his head, his fingers running through his hair, the small shocks of static electricity that triggered shivers down his back.

And then those hands had slid down his cheeks to tighten him, to pull him closer as soon as Ford tried to break away and catch his breath... after all, why doing it? It was a dream, there was no need to breathe. So, quieted, Bill had passed his hands under his ears, behind his neck, on the back of the neck, behind his head, running voluptuous between his hair...

Ford sighed and clung to the edge of the boat with both hands, tightening his lips harder. By contrast, he felt again the pressure of Bill's mouth, concrete, tangible, too concrete to be just a dream. It was electric, like when he was alive. It was soft and ravenous. And it always tasted like metal.

Ford felt his face burn with embarrassment and shook his head. He turned his back to the sea and began to fiddle with the sails, untangling the knots and tying them again.

That was just a dream. A dream that, apparently, tapped into quite old memories, but still, it was just a dream. Although that mouth might seem real - Ford nibbled his lip - and although the memory of that kiss continued to make his tongue tingle, it was just a dream.

Bill Cipher was dead and this had not changed.

 

 

Ford opened his eyes, but there was no ceiling. Actually, there was nothing.

Yet there was a ceiling on the Stan O' War II. Had he fallen asleep outside? But he remembered going to bed after saying goodnight to Stanley. And anyway, Stan would not let him sleep on the bridge, not when the weather could suddenly get worse.

He tried to turn sideways and get out, but his arm did not move. He tried to pull again and felt only a metallic clink. He turned around: a handcuff tied his wrist to the headboard of an iron bed - it seemed familiar, it belonged to a hotel.

_Hotel?_

_I'm dreaming._

He tried to reach the arm handcuffed with the right, but neither the other arm did move: a glance was enough to confirm that too was closed by a handcuff.

_But why handcuffs?_

"Because you’ve been a bad boy," replied Bill Cipher, "And because I don’t hold you in some way, you immediately go crazy."

Ford blinked: Bill sat on his raised knee, legs crossed and hands resting on top of each other.

"You!" he shouted. He tended his neck as much as possible, tried to straighten up without success. He struggled to shake his legs to kick him: both remained motionless, forced into their position by an invisible force.

"I'm glad to see you again, Fordsy," Bill replied in his most ironic tone. "How was your day? No, I don’t really care, so let’s move on, what do you think?"

Ford gritted his teeth.

"Release me now!"

Bill chuckled.

"You’re adorable when you think I’ll listen." he lowered a hand to give him pats on the leg. "Relax and make yourself comfortable. I'll take care of you."

Ford stirred again, only managing to rattle the handcuffs against the bed’s bars.

"Stay away from me!"

"And here you start again with the usual lie you like so much to repeat." Bill rolled his eye. "You don‘t want to see me, you hate me, I lied and blablabla." Bill uncrossed his legs and let himself slide down Ford’s thigh. "Let’s just skip this useless and boring part."

Ford glared at him with fiery eyes.

"You could think of it as boring and it couldn’t matter for you, but it matters for _me_."

"Because humans like to hold on trifles." Bill walked along his leg and sat down on Ford’s belly. "But you're better than that, Fordsy. You’re _my_ human and you aren’t like everyone else."

"I’m not yours."

"Of course you are." Bill rolled his eye again. "You called me back from the dead, so it’s as if you announced it to the whole Multiverse." one of his hands slipped under the edge of Ford’s sweater, hot and electric fingers touched his skin. "I just have to remind you what it _feels_ like, to belong to me."

Ford clenched his teeth and tried to move again, with no result.

"Thirty years of separation must have clouded your memory," Bill continued. His hand moved to caress his stomach, from one side to the other, giving him goosebumps “All that time running away, losing yourself between Dimensions... with all you’ve seen and learned, no wonder these memories faded: you humans have such a small brain!"

The fingers of his left hand slid under the sweater, but both thumbs remained outside. The hands moved upward, pulling up the edge of the sweater.

"But this isn’t something you can forget." Bill looked at him, his eye narrow. "Your body remembers. And you’ll remember too."

Ford took a deep breath.

" _I. Am. Not. Yours._ " he spelled.

Bill withdrew his hands and rose above him. His wide open eye was expressionless. He raised a hand, snapped his fingers and the sweater disappeared.

"We'll see, Ford," he lowered again, until he sat on his stomach. The contact of those legs against his bare skin gave him shocks of static electricity that made him clench his teeth. Bill put his hands on him, covered the nipples with his palms.

"Stop it!" Ford yelled.

"Oh, so you're still as sensitive as years ago." Bill's tone was cheerful again. "And in the same spots, I assume?"

Ford shook his head. No, no. It could not end up like last night, not again, not with that kiss still rewinding in his mind.

Bill's hands drifted higher, wrapped around his neck, and the fingers stroked behind his ears: delicious tingles that made him sigh. Ford pushed it back and shook his head again, trying to get rid of those hands. By contrast, Bill laughed again.

"Yes," he answered, the tone overflowing sarcasm, "In the same spots."

"Get off me, goddammit!"

The hands reached his cheeks and rejoined at lips’ level, one finger at a time. Ford’s lower lip remained closed between the indexes and Bill pulled it forward, until it escaped his grip.

Ford glared at him again. His lip felt swollen, moist, electric.

And it felt good.

Bill brought a hand back to his mouth, fingers pressed onto his lower lip. Ford shook his head to push him away, but Bill's other hand grabbed his chin and forced him to stand still.

Then he slipped three fingers into his mouth.

Ford moaned from the bottom of his throat and tried to wriggle free. Bill tightened his grip on his chin and pushed his fingers deeper, until Ford groaned. Satisfied, he withdrew his fingers, damp with saliva.

"Wha..." gasped Ford, "What the hell’s wrong with you?!"

"I'm crazy, of course!" Bill replied with a laugh. The wet hand went down his chest again, leaving an hot trail in its passage.

Ford’s breath trembled and he sealed his lips.

"All mine," Bill said to himself, "All mine. And you're still so beautiful."

Wet fingers hesitated on a nipple, traced small circles around it, stroked its tip. Ford felt it harden.

"My body may have reactions…" he began.

"You went from denying everything, to admitting that I still have quite an effect on you."

"It doesn’t mean anything!" Ford snapped. His face was purple with embarrassment. Bill sighed.

"This would be so simple, if you weren’t so stubborn." he stroked the line of his abs. "All you have to do, is say that you’re mine. I’m asking you something very simple."

"I’ll never be yours again, Bill," he replied, "Because you’re dead and this is just a dream."

Bill’s shape turned off his golden glow and emitted gray statics again. Bill blinked: one, two, static. Golden again. Two statics again.

He flicked his eyelashes and focused on Ford. He stared at Bill, eyes wide, breath suspended between his teeth.

"Bill?"

Bill's eye bent into a smile. He approached, crawling on his chest. His hands went up along Ford’s arms, his eye dangerously close.

"What the hell are you up t...?"

Ford's question was silenced by Bill's mouth, his lips pressed against his. Ford groaned, tried to shake his head and escape from that electric kiss, that tongue that rolled around his.

Bill's hands reached his, their touch was electricity in the middle of the palms, shook his fingers. Ford arched, trying to escape again or at least to shake him off.

Bill grabbed his hands, intertwined his fingers and pulled them up, breaking the cuffs, then pushed Ford’s hands back against the mattress and nailed him under his grip. At the same time, he pushed his tongue deeper into his mouth, stroking his palate with sparks of electricity that made his head spin.

Ford tried to move his arms, but Bill's grip was steel and his mouth was fire. With a moan, he answered the kiss and stroked that tongue with his own. As soon as he touched it, Bill pulled back and his mouth moved to Ford’s cheek, until it reached his ear. The tip of his tongue tickled the eardrum and Ford let out a breathless sigh.

Bill’s mouth descended along his neck, leaving a damp trail behind. Ford tilted his head back, giving him more space. Bill’s teeth nibbled at his Adam's apple and his hand went to the back of his head, to stroke the hairline.

Ford closed his eyes and lost himself into his grip.


	4. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: In this chapter there will be a sex scene. You are warned.  
> Also, I hope you enjoy. Because I loved it <3

Tonight the shape of his Muse is more beautiful than usual.

Yet it does not seem different: always equilateral, always golden, always with that brick decoration in the lower part. Perhaps it is the way that it shines, with dazzling heat and vitality.

Ford’s eyes run through the shape, from the top to the base. Even his Muse’s limbs seem more black. He had never noticed how his legs draw two small numbers four. Nor how his hand moves fast along the strings of calculations, controlling them at a speed four times higher than normal.

He really _is_ a superior creature.

His chest swells, at the thought of the great honor his Muse has bestowed upon him. How many others can claim to have been, in their Mindscape, with a divine creature that controls their work literally one calculation at a time?

Bill moves to a new board, sliding sideways in a sinuous way. His right hand hangs from the lower half of his shape, his fingers barely separated. It looks like a small black shell. Ford wonders how it would feel to take it in his hand and stroke it with a finger.

Ford shakes his head, puzzled by that funny thought. Bill is saying something, but he can not concentrate. His right hand distracts Ford. He had never noticed how dark his fingers were, nor how they stood out against the gold of his form. He wonders if that golden glow that covers him is really hot as it appears: he would like to put a hand on his back and find out.

"Stanford!"

Ford jumps, surprised, his heart in his throat. Bill turns to him, his hands resting on both sides. His elbows draw two smaller triangles, delicious to look at.

"Is that clear?" he asks.

"Ehm..." Ford scratches his cheek. "Well..."

"We’ll come back later and you’ll understand more." Bill floats towards him, grabs the raised hand and guide it on the formula. "Now: look at this equation and see how it joins the Transdimensional Constant..."

Ford closes his mouth that was left open and swallows. From the blue formula, his gaze moves to his hand, hold by Bill's. His heart makes a funny bump in his chest and Ford feels his face tingle.

_What’s happening?_

His Muse’s hand is soft, warm and his touch is... yes, it reminds him of the small shocks of static electricity. It's strange and it's the most pleasant thing he has ever tried. He moves his gaze on Bill, on his eye focused on the formula, on his golden glow.

_He’s beautiful._

His heart jumps again. He did not even think about it, but Bill is really beautiful. His golden shape is a pleasant sight, his eye surrounded by long black eyelashes is intense and expressive. And his hands are really hot as he thought.

Ford feels himself blushing and looks back at their joined hands. His heart makes another little jump.

He had never thought about that before.

* * *

 

The weather had finally worsened, turning into a raging storm.

Stanley shouted something from the wheel, his voice lost in the hurricane. Ford turned to him: he was pointing at the sails. Following his gaze, he saw the ropes loosening, the sails swelling to the wind.

_Damn!_

Ford grabbed the loosened rope and wrapped around his palm. He snatched the other ropes with his free hand, squinting to avoid the soaked hair that the wind kept blowing against his face. He pulled with all his strength, lowering the sails as much as possible.

A scream from Stanley or maybe from the sea make Ford turn around, just in time to see a wave rise over them and crash down on the deck. A wall of water hit him and Ford was tossed against the mast, but he kept his grip on the ropes, to not be thrown away.

He coughed water, his arms trembled. In his mouth he felt Bill’s taste again.

_Not now!_

He squinted his eyes. His body quivered, because of the cold and the memory of those hands. He squeezed his eyes and saw them moving again on him, he felt them scratching the back of his head. In his palms tightened by the ropes he felt the small electric shocks of his fingers.

_NOT NOW!_

A new wave crashed against him, water poured into his throat. He coughed harder, shouting in the wind’s scream.

_They’re just dreams!_

His body quivered, his arms trembled. _He_ had touched him as only he could do. No one else, no dream could have replicated those skilled hands.

_“You called me back from the dead. I just have to remind you what it feels like, to belong to me”_

_Is that ever possible?_ His arms trembled. _Is it possible that I really called him back from the dead?_

"FORD...!"

Stanford raised his head, to see a new wave rise upon him. He tightened his grip on the ropes and moved behind the mast: the wave struck him with less violence; his force, mixed with the wind, made the ropes tremble in his hands.

Stanley shouted something against the wind and the sky. The Stan O' War II rose up a smaller wave, water splashed into their eyes.

Ford closed them, rested his forehead against the mast, the ropes still tied in his hands. Through closed eyes, he saw the golden glow of a flash.

He felt Bill’s hands dive into his hair again.

_“You’re mine, Stanford”_

_“Your feelings for me were so strong, that they let you call me back here, in your Mindscape”_

No. Stanford clenched his teeth. No. Even if it were true, even if Bill Cipher had really come back to life in his Mindscape, it certainly was not Ford’s will. What he felt for Bill died with him. His body could have reactions, but it was only because that demon could stimulate him in the right places. There was nothing. There was nothing between them for years, since Bill betrayed him.

Off in the distance, the blue sky was a hope to be reached. Ford felt the deck tremble under his feet, as Stan pushed the engine to the maximum in that direction. A new wave hit the deck, cutting off their way and making the boat pitch violently.

Ford missed his grip on one of the ropes and staggered, waving his hand, trying to get the rope back. He heard Stanley swear, he saw him lose his grip on the wheel, pushed against the edge of the ship by the violence of the recoil.

He opened his mouth.

"Stanley! Watch ou..."

He just felt a wall of water overwhelm him with unstoppable force. He lost his grip on the ropes, hit the parapet with his side and was dragged down, in the middle of the rough sea.

_When two particles are bound, what happens to one ends up influencing the other._

Ford stirred, swam against the waves, trying to get back to the surface. He managed to emerge, took a deep breath, reached out a hand and someone grabbed him. In the roar of the storm, for a moment Bill's eye appeared before him.

"FORD!"

With Stanley’s voice calling him somewhere, Ford passed out.

 

 

He walked on a beach and it was quite hot. Ford put an arm over his forehead. It must have been because of the sea, red and orange like a supernova. Maybe it was about to explode in a storm, that was why it was so hot.

He looked down on the sand, on the blue grains between his bare feet. A blue beach. It was probably from one of his memories about Dimension 35. ~~_No, in Dimension 35 there was no blue san..._~~

But it was not important. That was a beach and it was hot. Far away, on the horizon, the sky was black. But it was a distant storm and he was warm. Even too warm, maybe.

_The storm. The blanket. Stanley covered him..._

"Well, isn’t this a classic romantic setting you just chose"

A pair of arms wrapped around his neck. Ford pulled one off and turned, stumbling backward through the sand dunes.

"Get lost!"

"How cruel you are, Fordsy," Bill teased him. "Since you took it upon yourself to bring me here, you could at least say nice things to me, sometimes."

"I didn’t bring you here."

Bill sighed.

"You’re getting boring and repetitive." he held out his hands. "Can’t we just cut it short and...?"

"No, we don’t cut it short." Ford slapped his hands away and stepped back. "This story ends now. You’ll stop appearing every time I dream and I’ll return to my life."

Bill laughed.

"Your LIFE!" he repeated, laughing hysterically. "What life? Your pathetic sea adventure? The brother with whom you have not talked for years and who is practically a stranger? I am your life! Your life revolves around ME!"

"You’re nothing to me."

"Ahahaha, sure! And I need just one kiss to drive you crazy."

Ford raised a hand between them.

"My body could react if you touch me, but that doesn’t mean I love you again."

The sea fell silent.

"Stop it, Ford."

Bill lowered his tone and became serious again.

"I'm just telling the truth," Ford insisted. "I don’t feel anything for you anymore. I didn’t call you back here. You're dead, Bill, and this is nothing but a dream."

The shape of Bill switched off, his golden colour was replaced by static gray, like an old television: the color reappeared, again static. The whole form flickered, broke, recomposed. As if he were unaware of everything, Bill raised his hands in front of him and looked at them.

"Bill...?"

"I could’ve rested in peace," he said to anyone. "I could’ve pretended to be your old Muse."

He clenched his hands and looked up at Stanford. The pupil became red.

"Why did you call me back here?" he asked, the voice growing steadily. "Why do you keep me trapped? WHY ARE YOU DENYING EVERYTHING?"

Ford took a step back.

"Because I would never have called you back," he replied. "I hate you."

"YOU’RE LYING!" Bill shouted. "I was your God! You gave me EVERYTHING! And you still want me, that's why you called me back here!"

"I hate you!" Ford yelled back. "You deceived me, you hunted me down for thirty years, you tried to kill my family! Hell, how could you even think I could feel something like _love_ for you?"

"Because it’s what you’ve been feeling for thirty GODDAMN years!" he shouted. "No matter how far away you were, figuring out how to kill me, there was always part of you that still wanted me! And that WANTS me again! You may hide behind lies, but THIS is the truth! You still want me to hold you and take you until you forget what your name is and we BOTH know that!"

"That’s not true!" blushed Ford. "I hated you from the very moment you tricked me and revealed yourself to be the monster you are! My love is dead, exactly like _YOU_!"

Bill's entire form turned red and divided into three sections. Golden arms sprout from the sides, rows of sharp teeth rose from the edges, the eye turned black. Ford took a step back and throw a fist, pointing to the eye. Bill stopped him with one hand and pushed him back, making him fall on the blue sand.

Ford put a hand to the ground and tried to get up: the sand slipped through his fingers and, rubbing together, the grains caught fire, making a fire flare up around him. Ford screamed, tried to get up, held out a hand to escape the ~~water~~ flames that surrounded him, wanted to consume him.

Bill grabbed his wrists and lifted him up,

_away from the flames away from the fire_

other hands gripped his ankles, leaned on his knees, grabbed his hips, held him up by his thighs, stroked his back, supported him by the buttocks. Ford gasped, folded his legs trying to escape the fire that was licking his feet, that he felt behind him. He struggled in Bill's grip, tried to hold on to him to escape.

Bill's eye kept staring at him, silent, ignoring the flames that surrounded them. Why should they scare him? He had died there, in flames. And now even Ford would die, burned in the same fire of that demon.

He let out a strangled scream and Bill drew him closer. A long black tongue slid out of the space between the two upper sections and went up along Ford's body, moist and hot as the flames that were consuming them.

Ford tried to free himself, to put his feet on the ground, to escape. Bill's hands tightened their grip around his hips and two more leaned on his shoulder blades, holding him straight as his tongue went up Ford’s chest and the tip tickled his neck. The tongue’s weight and that boiling heat made Ford gasp and he ducked his head back, in search of air.

Another heat came up insidiously along his legs. Ford lowered his head and saw a second tongue climb up his legs, stroke his thighs. The tip reached his groin and pressed against his genitals. A burst of pleasure run through his body, so intense to make him moan.

Ford tried again to wriggle away, without success. The wet clothes had become a cage, glued against his body, blocking his movements. The only things he felt with powerful clarity were the red heat of Bill’s tongue on his chest and the friction of the other one that moved between his legs.

Ford closed his eyes and moaned again, trying to rub himself against Bill’s lower tongue. His body was on fire: perhaps because of the flames that burned around them without burning their flesh, perhaps because of the Bill’s tongue that still rubbed against him, rising waves of pleasure that clouded his mind and sank everything else.

"More." he managed to articulate. The tip of Bill's tongue rested on his Adam's apple, Ford felt it electric and hot against the naked skin and gasped. "M… more."

The tip of the tongue came down his neck, ran over his torso again and slipped under his sweater. The small contact with the bare skin of his stomach was enough to get a gasp of pleasure from Ford. The sweater disappeared and the tongue went up along his bare chest, more humid and hotter than before. Ford arched up to its warmth, feeling it pulse against him, enjoying the small shocks of electricity that tickled his nipples.

The lower tongue continued to rub against him, back and forth. Every time it pushed back, Ford felt the tip caressing his buttocks, so hot, so wet even above his pants. He reacted to those movements, moving to meet the lower tongue as well as the upper one pressing against his naked torso.

Bill's two other hands took off his pants. The flames around them were warm against the exposed skin, nothing to do with the burning heat of the tongue that surrounded him, licking his inner thigh, rubbing against his erection covered by the briefs. The thin material was already soaked, glued against his skin; it strengthened the feeling of that damp tongue that rubbed against him and the sensation of the tongue’s tip that, with every thrust, caressed him between the buttocks, spreading them.

_Take me. Take me!_

Two more hands ~~finally~~ leaned on his hips, grabbed his briefs and took them off. Ford felt them slide off his legs, leaving behind a damp trail that made him tremble with desire.

He opened his eyes - when he had closed them? - and straightened the head he bent to the side. Bill's eye was staring at him. Ford felt his cheeks pinching with embarrassment: he was there, naked in his arms, and Bill was filling his sight with every fold of his skin, every tattoo, every scar.

The lower tongue leaned back between his legs and stood still, waiting. Ford swallowed, feeling himself burning and quivering at the contact so warm and vivid. A shiver ran through him. He gasped and, looking at Bill right in the eye, rubbed against his tongue.

Bill's eye bent into a smile.

Ford felt the hands that held him tighten their grip and open his legs more. The upper tongue continued to pass over his chest, covering him with his damp heat. The lower one rubbed against Ford, the tip dampened his opening with every movement.

"What do you want?" simply asked Bill, with his thundering voice.

And there, with the fire that was consuming him from the inside, Ford managed to articulate only one word.

"You."

The tip of Bill’s tongue pushed against his opening and entered him. Ford arched up to Bill, opened his mouth and a moan of pleasure escaped his lips. The other tongue caressed his chin, his tip brushed his lips and Ford kissed it, licked it, panting, pushing against it.

The lower tongue went out of him and came back in, firm and hot, pulsing against his flesh. The hands that held him tightened their grip, while the tongue went deeper, making him burn from the inside.

Ford moaned, his head tilted back, sparks of pleasure exploded before his eyes. He leaned toward Bill, though already lifted from his hands, though already with a tongue pressed on his body and even _inside_ him. He wanted more, he wanted to burn and be submerged, he wanted to be filled with his tongue and moan his name, Bill, Bill, BillBillBill...

The tongue inside him increased its thrusts, following the rhythm of the sea waves and the flames that touched them. Ford rocked with him, followed his pace. He tried to free a hand to bring it to his erection, but Bill's grip around his wrists was steel. He moaned and the tip of Bill’s upper tongue slipped into his mouth, rubbed his palate, stroked his tongue.

It was not enough.

_More. Touch me more._

Other hands sank into his hair and forced him to keep his head straight, while the tip of Bill’s tongue came out of his mouth and wrapped around his neck, leaving a wet hot trail. The lower tongue re-entered him once more, firmer than before.

Ford shivered, the pleasure growing in his stomach and chest. Bill’s hands held him tighter to prevent him from collapsing. The tongue inside him twisted and by feeling that hot muscle rubbing so deeply against his flesh, made him scream with pleasure.

His eyelids trembled on his eyes, his lips quivered. The lower tongue continued to move inside him with that delightful rhythm, the upper tongue rubbed his cheek, passed over his lips and descended along his chest, to move sinuously in a languid caress. It reached his soaring erection and leaned against it with all his weight, pressing it against his stomach.

Ford screamed again, tried to move toward Bill and felt the presence of the other tongue deep inside him.

_Oh, yes._

He threw his head back and moaned with pleasure. The upper tongue began to move up and down along his erection, in sync with the thrusts of the other tongue which was deliciously twirling inside him.

Ford met the thrusts, his head spinning, a torrent of words that flowed from the lips to the brain and from the brain to the lips, the fire that consumed him, other fingers that ran through his moist body, the warm pressure of Bill’s tongue against him and against his erection, the one that twisted again, drowning him in pleasure, Bill, Bill more, more, more, take me, I love you, take me, more, take me, Bill, Bill...

_BILL!_

The orgasm swept over him like a tidal wave, making  him scream Bill's name at the top of his lungs as he sank into flames. Panting, he let himself into Bill’s arms, breathless, his chest rising and lowering in a miserable attempt to gather some air. The lower tongue came out of his body, the upper one ran through his chest in a last caress and lowered to lick his orgasm.

Ford closed his eyes, overwhelmed by exhaustion. He felt Bill's hands moving him, laying him on something hot and humid - flames? His tongue? Hell? - he let him do it, too tired to lift a finger or move a foot.

Feeling like melted wax, soft in the furnaces that consumed him, Ford managed to open his eyes again and straighten his head. Bill was still looking at him, his black eye occupied Ford’s entire field of vision, erasing even the flames. Slowly, he leaned toward him and his eye bent in a mocking smile.

"Still sure you don’t love me anymore, Ford?"


	5. Chapter 4

Everything is Bill.

Ford raises his arms, eyes closed and face turned towards the sun. Even through the closed eyelids, he feels warmth and golden light, brilliant as the one of his Muse.

He lowers his head and opens his eyes. The forest trees surround him in a circle, marking the limit of the small clearing. On their trunks, white and tapered, there are black cuts eye-shaped. The best ones were enclosed within a triangle, carved in the bark: in this way, the Muse could keep watching him.

His heart beats hard, Ford swallows and sits cross-legged in the middle of the clearing. He laces his fingers on his lap and shapes, with indexes and thumbs, an inverted triangle. He sits as straight as he can, trying to be as regular as possible. The perfect symmetry of his Muse is inimitable, of course, but that is the least he can do to honor him.

Ford closes his eyes again and the divine and delightful image reappears in front of him. He thinks back to Bill, sitting on the armchair on the other side of the chessboard, his legs so seductively crossed, his fingers around the handle of a teacup. He thinks about how his eyelids half open when he laughs, how his shape shines intermittently when he speaks. He thinks back to his long, black eyelashes, the way he fixes his bow tie, how he touches the edge of his hat when it's time to say goodbye.

Sleep wraps him and makes him sink. Ford lets himself be led, to land again in the blue space of the Mindscape. His beloved Muse is already at work, surrounded by diagrams and graphics of the portal. Beautiful and tireless, a concentrate of perpetual energy with universal knowledge.

Bill turns around.

"Welcome back, Fordsy!" again that lovely gesture of touching his hat "Want a tea, before we get to work?"

He snaps his fingers and a tea set appears. The snap repeats in Ford's ears, reaches his heart. And, as if it were the signal he was waiting for, he marches towards the Muse.

Bill looks at him, perplexed. Animated by that boost of courage, Ford grabs his hands and holds them.

"I love you"

He simply said it and doesn’t even feel suffocated by embarrassment. Courage still boils in him, encourages him to stay and talk.

"I realized I love you three months ago," he continued, "And I had to tell you. Because I love you with all my heart."

Bill looks at him, looks at the hands that Ford still holds. Ford supports his gaze, panting as if he had run a marathon, hot and certainly red all over his face.

And Bill bursts out laughing.

His laughter is shrill, sharp, overflowing with joy and echoes throughout the Mindscape, makes the walls tremble and rumbles everywhere, becoming ten times more thunderous. The world trembles around them, trembles under Ford’s legs, makes his whole body tremble, makes his chest tremble with sacred fear, leaves him open-mouthed and with adoring eyes.

_ My  _ God.

That small manifestation of divine power makes his heart beat even stronger. His Muse is so superior, so above him and his little human emotions... what are, for his immense deity, the feelings of a simple human being like him? Could he even understand them?

He tightens his grip on those hands. Bill is a God, he is superior... but he is also magnanimous and understanding. Bill knows his strengths and weaknesses, he knows what his most painful memories are, he can read his every doubt. And despite all this, despite his human imperfection, Bill remains at his side. He helps him, follows him, reassures him, answers his doubts, stimulates him to improve himself. And he does it because, for him, Ford is  _ special _ .

_ "I could’ve chosen anyone else! But I chose you, because you’re special, Stanford Pines." _

Although so different from him, even if so superior, perhaps his magnanimous Muse, his almighty God will be able to understand what he feels.

Bill's laughter goes out, fading into silence. The last echoes dissolves in the Mindscape, the world shakes one last time, and then settles down. Ford swallows.

Bill reopens the eye. It’s shiny and arched into a smile.

"What a marvelous way to greet me, Fordsy!" he frees his hands from Ford’s grip and squeezes his cheeks. "I already knew you were special, but every day you exceed my expectations! Nobody has ever told me anything like that. And in such a confident way! Believe me, I'm flattered! I can’t experience the feelings you humans have, but I appreciate them all."

Bill approaches, beats his eyelashes slow, strokes his cheek.

"And love is the one I appreciate the most."

Ford holds his breath, feels his heart beating in his throat. His eyes are full of Bill's pupil, of his divine light.

"Although I will never be able to feel love," says his beloved Muse, "I promise you that I’ll do everything to keep yours alive."

Ford manages to breathe again and two tears slide down his cheeks.

"Thank you." takes Bill’s hand in his, kisses it over and over again. "Thank you."

His knees buckle and Ford falls to the ground in front of his God. Bill lowers himself, letting Ford hold his hand and kiss it.

No honor has ever been so great, no happiness so all-consuming. He would want to cry with joy, until all his tears run out. He would want to kiss his Muse forever, repeating him with every kiss how deep his love is. He would want to told him two months ago, instead of going crazy thinking about it.

"I love you," repeats Ford, against his hand. "I love you with all my heart."

Bill smiles with his eye, while Ford leaves fervent kisses on his palm.

* * *

_ Everything is crazy. _

The sky was covered in heavy gray clouds that seemed ready to collapse into the sea. Ford blinked, and with each blink, he thought he saw a distant thunder.

_ It’s not a thunder. _

Ford jumped, turned, looked around: who had spoken? Or it was just his imagination?

_ "WHY ARE YOU DENYING EVERYTHING?" _

It was not imagination. It was not a dream. His mind had succeeded in something impossible and atrocious.

_ "You called me back from the dead" _

No. It did not mean that it was his mind’s work. It was not possible to bring people back to life. It was not possible that he had brought  _ Bill Cipher _ back...

_ “No matter how far away you were, figuring how to kill me, there was always part of you that still wanted me! And that WANTS me again! You may hide behind lies, but THIS is the truth! You still want me to hold you and take you until you forget what your name is and we BOTH know that!" _

A stream of heat went up his chest and exploded on his face, making him burn in the cold breeze. The memories of the last dream started again in his head, a film that kept playing over and over since he opened his eyes. His body tingled again at the memory of Bill's tongue on him and,  _ oh damn _ , inside him. He held Ford and took him, he touched all the right places.

And Ford  _ loved  _ every part of it.

His legs trembled and he clung to the boat’s rail, his head down to hide the redness. He panted through gritted teeth, trying to push back into the back of his mind the feeling of Bill's tongue inside him, of the other one pressing against his erection, in a breathtaking rhythm.

He found himself swaying, in rhythm with the small waves that touched the boat and became purple with embarrassment. He stopped and clung harder to the rail.

More than thirty years had passed. He had ceased to be a gullible dreamer full of beautiful projects. He had been in Dimensions where one wrong word was enough to die, others in which his face could have caused instant death. He had hated Bill Cipher with every fiber of his body, hatred penetrated in his gut, burning every trace of love in his passage, as if it were acid. He did not love Bill anymore.

_ "Still sure you don’t love me anymore, Ford?" _

His legs quivered again and Ford leaned on his knees, his forehead against the wood of the boat. Those hands kept moving on him, he still felt his legs widen, he still felt Bill's tongue leaning against his genitals. The thought alone gave him a more pleasant thrill in the lower abdomen.

Damn it, he did not love him! He would never want something like that again!

... but ... b-but it was just a nightmare, right? A stupid nightmare.

_ It was not. _

"Stop it!" he shouted, standing up. "Shut up!"

"Everything alright?"

Ford turned: Stan was out of the cabin, on the boat deck. He did not have his red hat on and his hair was messy.

"Hey." Stan came up to him. "What’re you doing out here?" he touched his forehead with the palm of his hand. "No fever, but you don’t have to get out of bed. You've been sick and you're not a kid anymore: it's starting to get cold here. Get back under the covers, take a nap and keep warm."

Ford felt himself blushing, at the thought of  _ how  _ he had kept himself warm the night before. He looked away.

"I'm fine, Stan." he swallowed. "Thanks."

"Are you sure?"

"I’m good," Ford said. "I just need some fresh air. Five minutes and I’ll go back inside."

From the corner of his eye, he saw Stan shrug.

"Suit yourself." he gave him a pat on the shoulder and went back towards the cabin. "But if you get sick again, I won’t stay beside your bed to cure you again."

"Okay."

Ford followed him, until he saw the door close and he could breathe a sigh of relief.

_ Stan could be in danger. _

He blushed. Stan stayed beside him while he was sick: had he noticed something? How much of his last dream with Bill leaked outside? Not much, apparently, otherwise Stan would certainly have asked him some questions. Or maybe he had preferred to ignore everything?

He shook his head. That was not the important thing. The important thing was that Stan could really be in danger. If Bill Cipher was alive in his head...

_ But it’s not! It can’t be! You can’t bring the dead back to life, no matter if they’re demons or who knows what! _

The memory of Bill's mouth tightened his chest. Icy blades stuck to the base of Ford’s back. It was  _ his  _ mouth, it was  _ his  _ way of kissing, exactly the same as thirty years ago. And the sensations he had felt, his hands and tongues were the same too. That was  _ Bill _ . And, if he had already appeared in three dreams, nothing would have prevented him from appearing in a fourth and a fifth. Nothing would have prevented him from taking possession of his mind and his body every night.

Phantom hands caressed his legs again. Ford shivered and squeezed them, thus feeling the uncomfortable presence of an involuntary erection.

A thunder, a flash and, in the flash, the echo of Bill's laughter. Or maybe it was in his head that he was laughing. He made fun of him, of the stupid reactions of his body. It was not Ford's fault if his body only needed a touch behind the ears or a hand that caressed the back of his neck or that voracious tongue that passed over his whole body and pushed...

_ Enough! _

He ran toward the ropes piled up in the bow and began to roll them up, turning them angrily in his hands. With each movement, the angle formed by the ropes with the boat's deck became a triangle.

He lowered the ropes: the triangle was still there, with an eye in the center made of a knot in the wood.

_ He’s watching me. _

In a flash, the black eye reappeared in front of him, with the golden pupil half-closed, while Ford rubbed against his tongue.

He stomped on the triangle in the wood with all his strength and turned his face to the sea breeze. He closed his eyes and took deep breaths: the wind made his cheeks tingle, the cold could not extinguish the heat that burned inside him.

Ford put one hand on his stomach and slid it down. He thought back to Bill's hands, fingers that ran through his hair, electric fingers that touched his jaw and made him turn, eyelashes brushing his cheeks and becoming smooth lips.

He exhaled too hard and the sound of his breath broke the memory. Ford stopped his hand at the navel and raised it again, intertwining his fingers with those on the left hand. He squeezed his eyes and the images of the dream passed in front of him again, the redness made his cheeks burn. It had been  _ too  _ real. But Bill was not alive. Bill  _ could not  _ be alive. Damn, the dead did not come back to life! Why he did not stop thinking about it? Why Bill did not stop tormenting him?

He squeezed his lips and felt the echo of Bill’s, of his tongue into his mouth, hands grabbing his head.

It was true.

It wasn’t true.

_ "My Ford" _

The rope had fallen to the ground. Ford crouched to pick it up and started rolling it again, slower, his eyes fixed on the woven fabric. It was rough under the palms.

Bill was smooth as steel, was hot and electric. In pyramidal form, even more. And as much as Ford scratched him with his fingernails, he only get that delicious little shocks of static electricity, which added to the pleasure of his tongue that ran over his bare skin...

Ford shook his head again and crouched to put the rolled rope back in place. He took another one: the woven fabric formed triangles, with small dots that looked like eyes.

He dropped the rope and stepped back, until he hit the mast with his shoulders.

Once Bill had passed a thick rope around his wrists and torso, because  _ there are humans who like this feeling. Do you like it too, Fordsy? _

A pang of heat reached his erection and Ford gritted his teeth. He did not need to add new memories, as if those from the evening before were not enough!

He went to the wheel and pushed the engine to the maximum, trying to escape the heat, the memories, the triangles that filled his eyes and the one he was laughing in his head.

_ Pointless. _

If Bill was really in his head...

Bill was  _ not  _ in his head. Those were just memories. His hands trembled. Maybe even pleasant, but still memories.

_ So why don’t you linger over them? There's nothing wrong. _

Ford decreased speed. His hands trembled. All he had to do was look at them to think back to those of Bill wrapped around his neck, in his hair, descending along his back, on the hips, around the buttocks, on the thighs, behind the knees, around the ankles. He narrowed his eyes and felt Bill's tongue caress his buttocks and push inside him.

He gasped and tightened his grip on the wheel. His body remembered too well how Bill had taken care of him, of the heavenly feeling of the tongue rolling up inside him, of the other tongue pressing his erection against the stomach, a moist and hot muscle that rubbed against sensitive skin.

_ They’re just memories... _

Ford sank his nails into his palms and straightened up. No. Never again. Once he could have been weak to Bill’s touch and words. Not anymore now. Now there was poison and acid in him. He no longer felt anything for Bill, he no longer felt love. And he could always keep sexual attraction at bay.

He took deep breaths and felt already less hot. He pulled his hair back, took the wheel with both hands and tried to concentrate on the direction indicated by the compass. The fresh wind ruffled his hair, stroked his neck like a pair of phantom lips.

_ If you go back to sleep, you can feel me again. _

His whole body quivered with pleasure, his heart beat faster and Ford looked away from the compass. If he went to sleep, he would see Bill again. Bill, who knew all his thoughts, who had already seen how he was burning for him. Bill, who would take him in his hands, would satisfy his fantasies and replay all his memories. From tongue, to ropes, to fingers, to possession, to tentacles. Oh, how could he not remember before that feeli...

_ No! _

He pinched his cheek hard and slapped himself just to be sure. The pain eased the excitement and dispersed the memory that was beginning to resurface again. He pushed them back to the back of his mind and locked them up where they were: he did not need any other thoughts of that kind. He needed to concentrate. He needed to work out a plan and stop Bill from toying with him again.

_ If I really brought him back to life... _

It would be over, this time for sure. Bill would never come back: either in physical form, nor in mental form or in any other form. No more  ~~ hands ~~ nightmares, no more  ~~ lips ~~ fear, no more  ~~ tongue that filled every part ~~

Ford shook his head. He would find the solution to get rid of the demon's problem once and for all. And, until then, he would not allow Bill to confuse his mind.

_ If he’s alive. _

... but Bill was not alive. So he was just getting ready, just to be safe. To be ready. The dead did not come back to life, whether they were mere human beings or lords of chaos. As much as he liked to always be the exception, in that case even Bill Cipher was not.

_ He’s alive. _

If he had really been alive, then Ford would have been ready. But he needed peace, damn it. Peace and not too many memories that intruded in his mind and made him have too many physical reactions.

He had to keep Bill away.

Dreams could be his gateway to get to Ford? Perfect, then Ford would have closed it. No sleep, no dreams, no access door. Without Bill's continued distraction, it would be much easier to find a way to get rid of him.

He just had to concentrate.


	6. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Easter, everybody! That's my gift for you, I hope you will like it! The long-awaited character that appeared briefly in previous chapters is finally here! :D  
> Have a good reading and thanks for all kudos and comments <3

On the other side of the portal, in Dimension 19\, golden sand and a dazzling sun are waiting for him.

Ford drops the bag on the ground and takes off his hat, jacket, gloves and snow goggles: one after another, the heavy objects fall on the sand and the sun shines on him, the heat surrounds him and penetrates in his bones.

He rises his face to the sun, welcoming the warm rays through half-closed eyelids. The cold he felt in the Eternal Snow Dimension is already a distant memory. And silence is a pleasant novelty, compared to the wind whistling in his ears.

Ford opens his eyes again and crouches to gather his things. He puts the bag over his shoulder: a couple of miles ahead, he sees the profile of what looks like the walls of a city. Finally, he will be able to gather information and new stocks.

In long strides, he heads for the city. The walls are majestic, the wide open door is at least two hundred meters high. Ford lends a hand to protect his eyes from the sun falling over him. Under his fingers, he sees something rising above the roofs of the houses: the top of a giant golden pyramid.

_It must be a Dimension similar to Ancient Egypt._

As he gets closer, the details increase. The gates of the city are painted entirely in blue and covered with golden arabesques. Among the absurd forms, he glimpses even several triangles.

Ford takes a look at the huge pyramid. If that was a dimension similar to Egypt, perhaps the pharaohs existed there too.

_"Egyptian certainly didn’t build the pyramids for them!"_

An old voice echoes in his ears. Fragments of memory appear with every blink of the eyelids: blue diagrams, the wooden armrest of an armchair, crossed black legs, a purple liquid swaying in a cocktail glass.

 _"They made the pyramids of that shape, just to please_ me. _"_

Ford shakes his head and rubs his eyes: there are no blue charts, no black legs seductively crossed, there are no wooden armchairs and no familiar voices.

_Not anymore._

He enters the city and mingles with the crowd. Stalls appear everywhere along the way, scents of spices fill in the air, dazzling fabrics appear in his field of vision. The inhabitants are covered in colored silks, from which four-fingered purple hands and scaly faces emerge.

Ford takes a side street, with fewer people. The stalls are all covered with jewels, necklaces that form precious curtains, behind which sellers' voices come from.

He approaches a stall, attracted by all that glitter: rows and rows of rings, pendants, necklaces of pure gold sparkle before his eyes. The merchant reaches out and offers him his wares, describing it with a lot of talk and gestures. Above his robes, Ford notices a pendant waving on his chest: a golden triangle, with the eye of Horus in the middle.

Caught his gaze, the seller raises the pendant in front of one of his eyes. Ford swallows. The merchant does not smile: he leans over, as if he wants to whisper a secret, and Ford approaches. From his mouth covered with scales, the merchant whispers two words.

" _Hulm Shaytan._ "

"What does it mean?"

The merchant backs out, lowers the pendant and pounds his chest. He repeats the name without a sound, only by moving the lips. _Hulm Shaytan, Hulm Shaytan, Hulm Shaytan_.

Ford continues along the way. The eye inside the triangle continues to follow him in every step, shows up between the hanging necklaces, on the sellers, drawn on the roof of the stalls, carved into the dark wood. The sellers do not smile, their inquisitive eyes follow him.

"Stranger."

Ford stops and turns. A female voice coming from a stall is calling him. He pulls out the curtain of precious necklaces and looks inside: he sees an old scaly figure, covered with delicate robes and with threads of golden necklaces hanging over her chest.

The figure reaches out and grabs his wrist. She leans over to look at him: on her left eye, hangs the pendant of a golden triangle with the eye in the middle. Ford tries to pull back and escape, she does not let him go. On the contrary, she tends her wrinkled neck towards him.

"Hulm Shaytan sees everything," she says, "And knows everything."

"I don’t understand." Ford pulls his arm again, trying to break free. "What does it mean? Who is it?"

The figure does not answer, but searches through the exposed jewels and picks up an ancient coin.

"Take it." she puts it in Ford’s hand. "Maybe your time won’t come and the Lord of Time and Death will have mercy on you."

She closes his fingers on the coin and leaves his hand. Ford backs away, comes out from under the stall’s shelter and walks away with long strides, almost running off that road and the eyes of the God chasing him.

The road ends, expanding into a square. In the center stands the gigantic pyramid he had seen from the far entrance: it is entirely made of gold and towers above the city, keeping it under control. A stairway starts from the center and climbs to the top, golden steps flanked on both sides by a handrail that sparkles under the light. Ford approaches, a hand to protect his eyes from the sun’s glare reflecting on the pyramid, on the handrails, on the too bright steps. Almost at the top of the pyramid, far away, a triangular door opens. It looks microscopic, seen there from below. But by standing in front of it, it must certainly be very high.

A hand pushes him back. Ford looks down and meets a guard's eyes. He wears the same light clothes as the others, but in addition he has a giant golden triangle on his chest, with the eye of Horus in black drawn in the middle. In his hand he has a golden-tipped spear.

"Stay away," he says, in a guttural voice, "You can’t get closer."

"Why?"

"This is the house of God," the guard answers. His lizard eyes hesitate on Ford, they check him from head to toe. Ford realizes his face is uncovered.

_The posters._

He turns and walks away with long strides. Behind him, he hears mutterings, a spear hitting the ground, crumpled paper.

"HEY, YOU!"

Ford throws himself into the first street he sees and starts to run, without looking back. He hears the guards’ heavy steps behind him, their shouts, a shrieking woman's voice, the sound of fallen metal. He runs in the first side street, clings to a wall and jumps to the other side. He gets back on his feet: two screams come from his shoulders, running steps from the right. He goes left, running close to the houses. The scent of spices tickles his nostrils again, the chatter of people overpowering steps and voices.

He slips through the crowd and crosses the street, to get into an alley on the other side. He can still hear closer voices. _Damn it, how many are they?_

He can not continue escaping like that, they'll catch him again as happened in Gohl. Ford looks at the houses. He sees an open window, casts a glance inside: cabinets, rugs, a couch, empty room. He clings to the edge, slips inside and hides behind the nearest closet, his breath tense.

The voices approaches, followed by steps. From his hiding place, he sees a soldier pass by the window. Still voices and mutterings that walk away from him.

Cautious, Ford comes out of his hiding place. He sighs with relief and, as he raises his hand to pull himself up, he realizes that the left hand is still closed in a fist around the coin the old woman gave him. He opens his fingers again: the coin is round, with the image of the city enclosed by the walls. The other side shows again the triangle with one eye in the middle.

_"Coins were minted, in my honor."_

A black hand, a giggle. Golden bricks that glow with intermittent light. The taste of steel between lips.

Ford closes the coin in his fist and pushes it inside his pocket. He gets back on his feet, looks up and freezes on the spot, when he looks at the tapestry hanging in front of him.

They are the same walls of the city, but more massive. Squared and gray houses. A wooden and iron gate. And everything burns in scarlet flames, which consume the walls and the inhabitants. People are portrayed with wide-open mouths, screaming as the fire devours their bodies, hands outstretched towards the sky, in a pleading invocation of help.

And high up in the sky, dominating over destruction, the golden triangle with one eye in the middle. The demon he knows too well.

"That was the old Gymet."

Ford jolts and turns: an old woman has approached him in silence. On her eye hangs the pendant with the triangle and from that detail Ford recognizes she as the one that gave him the coin. He touches his pocket instinctively: she follows his movement, looks at him and nods. Her eye focus on the tapestry and Ford does the same.

"What happened?" he asks, in a murmur.

"Everything burned," she answers, simply. "God came down from heavens and destroyed everything, to rebuild it in his own image. Since then, there is the cult of Hulm Shaytan, Lord of Time and Death."

Ford raises his gaze on the God, his familiar shape, the wide-open eye and the blue flames in his hands.

"Flames purified Gymet," continues the old woman, standing beside Ford "Or so they say. There is no one left who can tell what happened."

Ford clenches his fists.

"And the pyramid?"

"No one’s allowed in," she replies, "That place is reserved for God's visits."

The old woman turns and looks at him, with her lizard eyes.

"The God is looking for you," she says, "What did you do to cause His wrath, stranger?"

Ford glances at the tapestry, at the image of Bill Cipher, who raises his hands and consumes the old Gymet with flames. Only seeing him on that tapestry causes Ford to shiver coldly and the flash of Bill’s laughter echoes in his ears.

"He tried to destroy my world as well," he replies, "I stopped him."

The old woman shakes her head.

"No one can stop the Lord of Time and Death," she replies. "All those who try, fall under His hand." she gives him a tap against his jacket’s pocket. "The God loves gold and shows mercy to those who give it to him: if you’ll be brought before Him, offer the metal dear to Him and perhaps you’ll have some chance to survive."

Ford puts his hand in his pocket and takes the coin. He holds it out to the old woman.

"If I’ll be caught, I’ll fight against him."

The old woman puts the coin in his hand and closes his fingers over it again.

“Give Him the coin," she insists. "Hulm Shaytan is capable of mercy, if something worthy of His person is given to Him."

Ford puts the coin back in his pocket. He knows that he will never use it. He knows that Bill Cipher is not capable of feeling pity. He was never able to feel anything.

A lump in his throat. He ignores it and squeezes the old woman's hand.

"Thank you."

The old woman withdraws, her hand slipping away from Ford's. With a swish of clothes, the figure walks out of the room and leaves him alone.

* * *

 

_"Day two awake: still no results found."_

Ford would have liked to write it down, but it was so useless that he did not even want to take notes. Sleep weighed on him like a blanket. His fingers were numb, his legs heavy.

But he was fine. He was great. He had not seen Bill and the memory of his hands was just beginning to fade. He just did not think about him, focused on the route or on the ropes or on his notes about the sea creatures that they had already seen. He just had to work and those phantom hands would have stopped runnin...

He shook his head. No. That was not the right thing to think about. He had to find the solution to his problem, that was the thing he had to think about. He had to concentrate. To focus. _Focus, Ford_. How to kill him again. How to kill a demon that no longer had a body. How the hell did you kill a demon who had no physical form? And that did not mean that he was a real demon, because it could very well be just a dream...

No. No. Stay on track. Staying focused, that was the important thing. He was fine. He just had to focus and not think about Bill or his body. His shape, he meant. His lips. His hands. His tongue. _Oh_ , that tongue...

He pulled the first book off the shelf and opened on the table. He sat down and started reading: a book about mermaids. Excellent topic. They should have met some of them already, as they approached the Pole.

No, sirens were further south, in the warmer areas. What was he saying? Damn it, he had to focus. But why on that book, beside the siren’s drawing, there was a yellow fish with a black eye? Why was he staring at Ford? Had _he_ put it there?

Ford flipped through more pages. No sirens, they would not have seen them in the north. Other creatures, another creature, any other creau...

"Ford."

Ford jolted and moved back, so suddenly that he slid his chair against the floor. He turned abruptly: Stan was standing in front of him, with the most serious and worried expression he had ever seen.

"Hey." Ford tried to give him something like a reassuring smile. "Everything’s good?"

"I should be askin’ you that." Stan crossed his arms. "How long has it been since your last sleep?"

Ford winced.

"Me? I sleep all nights."

"That’s not true," Stan said, "It’s been at least two nights you're awake. What’s going on?"

Ford shrugged.

"Everything’s fine," he answered, "Just a little bit of insomnia."

"Yesterday you didn’t even get into the room."

"What, are you checking up on me?" Ford blurted out. "It’s my own business how much I sleep."

Stan's eyes widened, a shadow of fear passed over his face. His features hardened, his mouth tightened and he leaned toward Ford.

"Now you can tell me the truth, smart guy, or I swear I’ll tie you and stuff your mouth with sleeping pills." he pointed a finger at his nose. "And you know I will."

"It's all right, I told you."

"No, it’s not." Stan's face softened, his eyebrows bent in a sad expression. "You've been acting strange for a week now. There’s something else on your mind, you're just staring off all day. And now you don’t sleep anymore." Stan pulled a chair close and sat down in front of him. "Tell me what's going on. I'm your brother, you know that if there's something wrong, I'll always be on your side."

Ford looked down at his hands, resting on his lap. Stan was reaching towards him, his eyes as big as when he was a child.

"I..." his hands trembled. Ford lifted them to cover his face.

"What happened?" Stanley's broad, comforting hand rested on his shoulder. His heat melted the frost that Ford felt inside his chest.

“ _Him._ ”

“Him?”

Ford lowered his hands.

"Stan," even his voice was shaking. "I fear that Bill Cipher is alive in my mind and talks to me through my dreams."

Stan just looked at him, a hand still on his shoulder. Time stretched to infinity.

And then, Stanley gave a forced giggle.

"But it's not possible, isn’t it?" he asked. "He's dead. We killed him.”

“I know.”

“He burned with all my memories.”

"I know!" Ford grabbed his hair. "I know it's crazy and it's not possible, but I'm going crazy! I know it can’t be him, but _behaves_ like him! And I need... something, some proof, before I’m going completely mad!"

Stan's grip on his shoulder grew stronger. His face became more serious.

"Tell me how I can help you."

 

 

 

"The first thing I have to explain to you is how Bill enters into a person’s mind."

"Through dreams or deals, right?" Stan answered. He rested an ankle on the knee of his other leg and relaxed against the back of the chair.

“I mean, in a more technical way.” Ford started walking back and forth again. "Depending on the entrance point he chooses, Bill can access the mind in two different ways. If he chooses to use a deal, then he’ll have full access to the host’s mind and memories: the so-called Mindscape."

"And if he enters through dreams?"

"He’ll remain confined to that realm: the Dreamscape," Ford continued. "He will know what a person thinks and his past, but he won’t be able to take memories from the host’s mind or rummage freely to extract informations." he tapped his knuckles against the temple. "The metal plate I installed in my head has that purpose: to prevent Bill from entering my Mindscape and, if he ever appears, to remain confined into the Dreamscape."

"So, there's no problem." Stan raised an arm. "He's forced into your Dreamscape, isn’t it? He’ll never be able to enter your mind anyway."

"He couldn’t, if it were a normal situation," Ford said, "But this is a highly anomalous situation. Theoretically, I brought  a chaos demon back to life only with a mere thought: I don’t know if, the fact that I was the one to call him back, has already given him free access to my Mindscape. In that case, Bill could freely enter my mind. Or has already entered, as far as we know."

Another long silence. Stan changed position on the chair.

"But this is all theoretical," he reminded him.

"That's why I need evidence." Ford ran a hand through his hair. "If I have the evidence, I'll know if I need to worry or not."

"And where do we take the evidence?"

"Through the stages of sleep." Ford lifted the lid of the trunk that they had brought with them and began to rummage inside. "As you know, sleep is divided into..."

"Smart guy, don’t assume I know all the stuff that you scientists like."

"Sleep is not scientist's stuff."

"It's all scientists and brainiacs, and I never give a damn about it, so what the hell would I know?"

"They explained to us in school!"

"Come on, how can you expect me to remember something from _school_?"

"There were at least two books in my study about that subject."

"I never went into your study, because there was too much smart guy’s stuff and I shuddered just by looking at it..."

"Oh, shut up."

" ... and then you think that, among all your boring books, I would start to leaf through one that talks about how to sleep? The only books I looked at were the ones explaining how to turn on your stupid transfunctional portal..."

"Interdimensional."

"And the most I've learned is about particles and quantified mechanics..."

"Quantum mechanics."

"That one," continued Stan. "But, apart from that, I don’t know anything else. So start all over again and explain in a simple way: I'm an old man and my mind is slow."

Ford chuckled, relieved by Stan's jokes. If there was something that had never changed, it was his way of doing. And he loved to have Stan with him, his friend again as when they were teenagers.

“All right.” Ford started again. "The sleep is divided into five stages. In the first stage you’re falling asleep, so your eyes are closed, you’re very relaxed, but you can also wake up very easily. Do you follow me?"

"Yep."

"While the second phase is that of light sleep," continued Ford. "The heart slows down and the body temperature decreases. If you've ever done meditation, you can reach this stage with the deepest concentration..."

"I've never done that stuff, brainiac."

"You should: it’s good for body and mind." Ford looked at him from head to toe. "You could use some."

"Oh wow, I didn’t know I had a personal trainer, thank you _so_ much." Stan gave him a dirty look. “Can we return to the main topic?"

"Okay." Ford rolled his eyes. "The third and fourth phase of sleep, however, are reserved for heavy sleep. The eyes are practically still, as well as the body. You remember that time we woke up Ma, because you saw that guy coming into the store? Do you remember how confused she was?"

“She kept pressing her hand all over my face, while asking who we were and where she was."

"Deep sleep," Ford explained. "It always happens when you get woken up at that stage. It takes you a while to understand who you are and where you are.”

"I got it. And that's the stage where you dream?”

"No, dreams come in the last phase, the REM. That’s the only stage in which we dream. Then, once that phase is over, the cycle starts again from the first stage, even several times during the night."

"Several times?" Stan scratched his head. "How do you know when you're in stage one or in the REM phase?"

"From brain waves." Ford searched again in the trunk and pulled out a bundle of electrodes, connected to a panel. "I’ll take the rest from the boat’s hold, but this is the main body." he handed them to Stanley. "The electrodes record the brain’s activity during sleep and reproduce it through waves, that differ depending on the sleep’s stage in which you are. With this device you’ll be able to recognize when you exit a stage and enter the next one."

Ford stood up.

"I'm sure that Bill only appears during the REM stage," he said, his eyes focused on the electrodes. "But I can’t be sure, if there’s nobody who can control the machinery while I sleep. If I meet Bill out of the REM phase, then we really have to worry."

"And if you meet him in the REM?"

Ford raised his eyes to meet his brother's. If he had seen Bill only in his dreams, if all that had really turned out to be just part of his imagination?

He looked away.

"Then I'll have to ask myself some questions." he answered, laconic.


	7. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it’s finally time for the big confrontation! Is Bill really alive in Ford’s mind or Ford is messing with his own mind all by himself? The answer is here. Then there will be the last chapter, with a few more answers and explanations.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this one and thank you all for reading this fiction, leaving kudos and comments. You are all amazing <3

A monster runs towards him and Ford shoots: the Quantum Destabilizer fires a laser beam that pulverizes half of the creature, leaving only legs and bones. The nearby monsters scream, some throw themselves at him: from afar, among the swirling colors of the Nightmare Realm, Ford sees the pink monster screaming orders.

He aims his weapon again, fires at another monster. His eyes hurt, tired of looking through spirals of colours, but Ford still moves, jumping from one asteroid to another, weapon in hand, looking for the demon for which he came back there.

Another monster similar to a giant ball runs towards him, screaming. Ford raises his weapon and shoots, making a hole in the creature’s middle. His eyes catch a golden flash.

He turns and sees him: Bill Cipher is slipping away, towards a chaotic cluster. Ford ignores the other monsters who try unsuccessfully to grab him, and jumps towards Bill, chasing his triangular shape.

One last jump and Ford lands on the steps of a staircase. Stairs surround him everywhere, above him, below, right and left. He tightens his grip on the Destabilizer and points it in front of him, looking for the shape that fits the scope.

He frames a triangular figure, but it is upside down, on a staircase above him. He fires anyway: Bill Cipher dodges the beam, turns and points a finger at him. Ford moves just in time: a ray leaves Bill Cipher’s finger and the step on which Ford was explodes, sending fragments in the air. Ford lands on a new staircase and points the weapon again: there is no trace of the triangular figure.

“Come out!”

“STILL ALIVE, AFTER ALL THESE YEARS!” answers Bill, his voice echoes everywhere. Ford goes up and down the steps, looking everywhere, finger on the trigger. He is on edge, pants through gritted teeth, his heart beats against the temples.

A ray comes his way and Ford avoids it just in time: the staircase collapses and he lands on a different one. Rolls down the steps and sees other energy rays hit them. Bill’s laughter echoes in the Quadrangle.

"AND TO THINK THAT, WHEN YOU ENTERED THE PORTAL," continues Bill, "I WAS SURE YOU WOULD GIVE UP IN A COUPLE OF MINUTES!"

Ford points the weapon everywhere, rushes down the steps and jumps on another staircase, running toward the voice that echoes everywhere.

“BUT MINUTES BECAME DAYS, DAYS BECAME MONTHS AND MONTHS BECAME YEARS. AND THE FEW TIMES I THOUGHT I FOUND YOU, YOU RAN AWAY AGAIN.”

Ford catches a golden flash, fires but the light is already gone.

"NOT ONLY YOU ESCAPED FROM MY ALLIES, BUT ALSO SURVIVED IN THE MULTIVERSE. HAH! HERE I THOUGHT YOU’D BE DEAD IN THE FIRST LAKE OF QUICKSANDS!"

Ford’s heart beats like a drum, his breath is a hurricane. Through the triangular scope, he looks closely every staircase.

"I WOULDN’T HAVE BET A PENNY ON YOU: YOU WERE JUST A PATHETIC GULLIBLE, ALL CAUGHT UP WITH HIS ROMANTIC CRUSH! I THOUGHT YOU WOULD ENTERTAIN ME FOR TWO MINUTES, MAYBE THREE."

Ford tightens his grip on the Quantum Destabilizer. He sees again parallel Fiddleford’s face, while he was giving him the finished weapon, he can feel again his firm hand on the shoulder. He would have defeated Bill, he had promised him.

“AND THEN YOU PROVED YOURSELF TO BE TOUGHER THAN A WORTHLESS, NAIVE HUMAN BEING! YOU PROVED YOURSELF TO BE  _ DIFFERENT  _ THAN OTHER HUMANS!"

Ford runs up the stairs, jumps and fires: Bill moves away, points his finger towards him and Ford manages to roll off just in time.

"I CAN’T FEEL YOUR SO-HIGHLY PRAISED “HUMAN LOVE”. I DON’T UNDERSTAND IT! BUT FUN,  _ THAT  _ IS SOMETHING I CAN UNDERSTAND! AND YOU GAVE ME THIRTY YEARS OF  _ REAL  _ FUN!"

Ford moves and the staircase behind him explodes, with a shockwave that pushes him against the stairs above. He lands on his hip, hits the steps with his shoulder. Ford straightens up: his arm throbs with pain and he shakes it, trying to relieve the soreness.

"I THOUGHT YOU WERE JUST AN IDIOT WITH THE HOTS FOR ME. I THOUGHT YOU WOULD BEEN WHINING AND BORING. INSTEAD YOU GAVE ME FUN!  _ ALL THIS TIME! _ "

Bill fires again at him and Ford diese the same: their rays meet in the middle and explode, generating a strong white light. In the dazzling explosion, Ford hears Bill laugh with mad triumph.

" _THAT’S_ WHAT I WANT!" Ford hears him screaming, delighted. " _THAT’S_ FUNNY! _THAT’S_ NEW! _THAT’S_ UNEXPECTED AND STRANGE!"

By taking advantage of the strong light, Ford fires several shots in Bill’s direction: he hears them hit and crash on the stairs. He sees Bill move, land on another staircase: he frames him in the scope, fires again but Bill already drifted away.

"SO YOU DID IT, STANFORD" Bill’s voice is behind him. "YOU MANAGED TO GET MY INTEREST."

Ford turns, shoots again and Bill avoids his ray. He points his finger at Ford’s face.

"DON’T MAKE ME REGRET THIS CHOICE," Bill tells him, smiling with his eye, "KEEP SURPRISING ME."

Ford moves aside, fires at him and walks away, moving on one of the stairs at the edge of the Quadrangle. He can barely take a breath, that he hears the whirling sound of a portal opening behind him.

Ford turns for a moment and sees, after thirty years, a blue light that he did not think he would ever see again.

* * *

Stan attached the last electrode on Ford’s head and turned towards the machine: with a  _ beep _ , the electroencephalogram activated.

"Here we are." his voice was serious, focused. His eyes were on the keyboard, a wrinkle in the middle of his forehead. His fingers ran fast on the keys while entering the data: he had spent thirty years inputting data and pressing buttons anywhere, after all.

"Ok, done." he pressed enter and the data screen disappeared, to be replaced by the chart. Brainwaves were represented by a series of short green lines, which moved with every blink of an eye.

Stan turned to look at him.  _ Did I do everything all right? Something is missing? _

"Great," answered Ford to the unspoken question. His throat was dry.

_ I don’t have to do it. _

A part of him wanted to get away from that stupid test. He wanted to tear off the electrodes from his head, tell Stan not to worry and that everything was fine, then go to sleep. Maybe Bill would not come back again.

_ He would. Because he has no reason to stop. _

"Great," repeated. He swallowed. "Remember that, during the first stage, you’ll mainly see theta waves, between three and seven herz, for about ten minutes or more. Then theta waves will be replaced by deltas, which are wider and have a lower frequency, between 0.5 and four herz. Delta waves will become gradually wider, while I’ll enter the fourth stage of deep sleep, and the frequency will decrease more and more..."

"Ford," Stan interrupted him, "It's all right. I'm here and I’ll not let anything bad happen to you."

Stan put a hand on his shoulder: he was hot. Or maybe Ford was freezing. He could not feel his fingers. And he was also shaking. He raised one hand and placed it on his brother's.

"In the REM stage the waves will appear very similar to those of the first stage," he continued, slower, “ There will be theta waves, but there will be these too." he raised the other hand and pointed at the graph line on the screen, showing the small beta waves typical of wake. "There will be both beta and theta activities. Don’t mistake them."

"I won’t."

Stan gripped his shoulder harder. Ford squeezed his hand.

"You should see more REM activity after the fourth stage," he suggested. "The waves will be very tall and wide. Once I’ll start sleeping, they’ll grow up. Until the fourth stage, you can’t go wrong."

"I’ve also the old example we saw in that medical book," Stan answered, with an encouraging smile, "If I won’t be very sure, I’ll look at the example."

Ford nodded. His hands craved to tear off the electrodes and give up everything. But he could not give up, not when everything was ready by now.

Besides, he had spent his entire life challenging Bill Cipher.

"The REM stage should start about an hour and a half after the beginning," Ford continued. "The first REM cycle usually lasts ten minutes, while the last one can take even one hour." he swallowed. "I’ll try to keep the dream as lucid as possible and not lose control."

Stan's smile faded into a worried expression.

"Ford," he began, "We don’t..."

"I need to have the evidence," Ford interrupted him. "Then I'll know if I need to worry."

Stan put his hand on Ford’s.

"I'm with you."

With a grateful smile, Ford closed his eyes and waited for sleep to overtake him.

 

 

"Not even a background, this time? That's fine too, as long as there's only the two of us."

Ford took a deep breath and turned to look at Bill, a brilliant figure floating in front of him. His heart tightened at the sight of that shape, his whole body quivered at the thought of touching it, his hands tingled by remembering of how electric it was. He clenched his fists.

"Do you want a background?" he asked, "Fine."

A pillar emerged from beneath his feet and projected Ford high up. At the same time, a second pillar fell from above, pointing towards Bill. The demon moved and the pillar crashed on the ground.

"Ahah, very funny," said Bill. With a wave of his hand, the pillar on which Ford was came down, bringing him back to the demon.

Ford jumped down, landed on fresh dewy grass. He created a network of trees, which hid him from Bill’s sight. He stood up, just in time to see the trees disappear, leaving the road clear. He raised a hand and a wall of grass rose in front of him, other walls met, closed in corners, intertwined to form a labyrinthine path.

"It's not funny anymore, Fordsy!" Bill's voice echoed above the maze. The grass walls began to crumble, giant roots sprang from the ground. One grabbed Ford from the waist and lifted him up to Bill's eye: the triangle held out a hand and stroked his jaw. "How about instead, we do something  _ really  _ funny?"

Ford pressed his hands against the root, that became ash. He fell weightlessly to the floor and broke its surface, sinking in water. Bill's yellow eyes opened in the blue, surrounding him. Ford swam down, until he entered a cave and resurfaced into the open air, in the middle of a field.

He turned and saw Bill reach him, his arms crossed and his eye narrowed in a sulky expression.

"What’s the problem, I'm too fast for you?" Ford asked, "You can’t catch me?"

Bill's eye widened, the demon loosened his arms.

"Oooh," he answered with a mischievous expression, "So  _ that's  _ how you want to play tonight."

He came closer and Ford stepped back. He raised a wall between them and bricks were fired away, like a gust of wind. Bill kept moving towards him and Ford placed other walls between them, from glass, to metal, to diamond. A wave of his hand and Bill knocked them all down, as if they were papier-mâché.

Ford took another step back and fell under the floor, inside an oval metal cage with very small mesh. A hole opened in the cage and Bill came inside.

_ Good _ .

With a little smile, Ford opened another hole, went out and closed the openings, leaving Bill inside. Approaching his hands, he shrank the cage more and more, making it smaller and smaller...

A blade pierced the cage and, with a semicircular movement, opened a slash. Ford tried to close it and the cage disappeared. A beat of eyelashes and was in the field again.

_ No _ .

He stamped a foot on the ground and earth rose. Bill replied by reversing gravity, so that Ford ended up floating in midair: Bill held out a hand towards him, black fingers touched his cheek, slipped behind his ear and sent a delicious thrill...

Ford swatted his hand away and gravity went back to normal: he fell toward the ground and while falling he pointed a hand at Bill: the triangle disappeared and Ford ended up in a pile of pillows.

He pulled himself up, looking around: they were just cushions in a field of golden flowers.

"You can’t escape me," the wind whispered. Ford felt a hand in his hair, so  _ delicious _ , that sent a shiver down his spine...

He pushed Bill away with a gust of wind: Bill stopped and floated toward him one more time. Ford raised another wall, moved to the side, changed the dream again in the jungle of Dimension 40. He ran through the trees, moved away the vines hunging in front of his face, avoiding the Lottocron Nine gaming tables that popped everywhere.

_ No, wait _ . He tried to think, while jumping on the tables to escape. They were two different Dimensions, he could not have to confuse them. He should not lose control of the dream.

"You’re still believing they're all dreams?" Bill turned his chair, glass in one hand and a chip in the other. Ford blinked and found himself seated opposite him, holding a set of queens. Bill dropped four aces and Ford threw his cards at him, as if they were daggers: Bill made them disappear.

With a wave of his hand, Ford raised the table and threw it toward the demon. Bill turned it into a cluster of feathers, which dispersed as he passed through it, pointing towards him.

Ford lifted a hand, but Bill was quicker and made him fall backwards. He landed on something red, soft and velvety under his palms. Behind him, the spiral center of a red rose. He was lifted and saw Bill close one hand around the rose, pulling the petals off one at a time. Ford escaped in the center of the corolla: he saw black, when Bill's hand grabbed the whole flower and tore it from the stem, letting the petals scatter in mid-air. Ford floated with them weightless, until he landed on silk sheets, covered with rose petals.

"A bit too romantic?"

He raised his head and saw Bill looking at him at the base of the bed. That look made him shudder.

He threw the petals at Bill, shifting them into thorns: Bill made them disappear and, by resting a hand on the bed, Ford changed it into a green field. Roots sprang from the ground, trying to make him trip over. He jumped them all, escaping into the forest...

... that disappeared, replaced by a golden beach. Ford dived into the sea and found himself on dry ground, on a floor in an empty room. He raised his head and saw Bill sitting on the window sill, his eye curved into a smile.

"There’s no thought more powerful than mine," he reminded Ford. “You can’t beat me."

Ford threw himself towards the wall, smashed it with a touch and found himself in Mexico, at the base of a ziqqurat. A second look and the ziqqurat became a pyramid, the earth became sand and the pyramid opened a giant eye to watch him.

"That’s the best you can do?" Ford challenged him.

The eye narrowed in another smile. A blink of an eye and Ford stood in the center of a giant kaleidoscope filled with red, yellow, green, and blue: a boundless window with flowers and triangles. He stepped forward and the design changed, the center moved back to the precise point where his feet touched the ground. He ran and every step was a new design, more chaotic, with more spiral, more triangles and more colors, that made his head spin. He fell to the ground, threw a fist and broke the chaos of colors, finding himself in a world of a faint blue.

Blue flowed away, revealing the black below.

"Let's stop, Fordsy," Bill told him. "Let’s not waste any more time."

"We're not wasting time," said Ford. He raised a wall between them, which Bill broke down with a simple wave of his hand. Ford threw giant awls at him, which Bill avoided swishing from side to side.

Ford took the opportunity and ran away, leaving sharp thorns, axes and pillars behind him. Bill continued to avoid them or destroy them with a simple wave of his hand. A pillar turned into a pink pig similar to Waddles, another turned into molten lava.

Ford moved away, still throwing things at him, changing the dream again from sea to mountain, to hill.

_ Show me how far you can push yourself, how powerful you are in this form. _

Bill avoided every shot, overthrew every landscape. He managed to touch his hand and Ford darted away, moving to the top of a mountain. Bill flattened it, turning it into a brown plain.

Ford changed again, went back to the black, tried again to lock Bill in a ball of rock: the demon disappeared and reappeared behind him, Ford moved away.

Two hands grabbed his shoulders and pushed him to the ground. Ford hit the floor with his knees, his chest panting, his breathing irregular. Bill, in front of him, was the only light in the infinite black that surrounded them.

Bill's eye narrowed. His hands went up from his shoulders to Ford's cheeks and, in his fingers, Ford felt himself melt and reform like clay, born again in a different form. His body answered with a hurricane of feelings, the heart started to beat faster, the pants became quiet sighs. His heart jumped in his chest, he felt it tighten. He narrowed his eyes as Bill, reaching for those hands he had wanted so much, that he  _ still  _ wanted so much.

Bill held his face in his hands and looked at him, the same way he looked at him years ago, the way Ford had always wanted Bill to look at him.

"So you did it, Stanford," he said. "You managed to make me fall in love with you."

Ford opened his eyes, his body’s sensations muted by the veil of awareness that had just fallen on his head. Something was wrong,  _ those words  _ were wrong. There was something wrong with that sentence.

_ “I can’t experience the feelings you humans have.” _

His brain cleared, as if he pulled his head out of a pool of fresh water. Bill Cipher was unable to experience the feelings of human beings. He had seen them countless times, he knew them by name, but he did not understand them. He could not understand them, because he wasn’t human. Because he would never have been able to feel them in person. Because the only thing he could ever do, was accept and appreciate them.

And, although Bill Cipher was a liar on lots of things, that was the only one he never lied to.

The cold veil descended on him and extinguished the fire that burned inside, replacing it with water. Bill brought his face closer, looking at him with the expression Ford had always wanted to see.

"I love you," Bill said, "I love you... "

_ "… with all my heart." _

"… with all my heart."

The fire in his body was extinguished and the water was too much. Ford felt it come out of his eyes and run down his cheeks, while the lie that he created, repeated to him the words he always wanted to hear.


	8. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So,  
> that's the final chapter of my first fanfiction and woah. WOAH. When I posted the first chapter, I absolutely did not expect all this heartwarming reaction. I supposed to receive maybe one or two comments and just a couple of kudos. Instead I found lots of people that read my fiction, loved it and commented every chapter! And, since this was my first fiction written in a language that is not my mothertongue, I could not be more happy and proud to touch so much people and give them emotions with my words.  
> So this conclusion is for all of you. Thank you for reading my story, enjoying it, leaving comments and kudos. You are incredibly amazing <3

Bad weather was gone and clouds vanished to reveal a white sky, lit by an invisible sun.

Wrapped in his coat, with the furry hood tickling his cheeks, Ford sat on a chest on the bridge of the Stan O' War II, his shoulders leaning against the mast. He was gazing towards the horizon, where sea and sky were divided only by a thin, pearly line. The cold made his nose run and his hands tingle, twelve fingers resting on his lap.

He heard the cabin door open and Stan's heavy footsteps. He did not look away from the horizon but, with the corner of his eye, he could see Stan approaching. The creaking sound of wood and something that rubbed against his arm warned Ford that his brother was sitting next to him.

Silence floated between them, broken only by the sound of the sea and the squeaks of the boat. The horizon remained the only thing to look at.

Stan cleared his throat.

"The waves were both theta and beta," he spoke in a low voice, "And even the eye movements were those of the REM phase." a moment of silence. "It was a dream."

Silence fell between them.

"You want..." Stan talked again, unsure, as if he did not know what to say. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Ford took a deep breath. Then opened his mouth.

"I never fully realized what Bill meant to me."

The words came out one by one, in a clear and complete sentence. He swallowed.

"I thought my love for him was dead, when I discovered his real plans," he continued, slowly, "But now I understand it wasn’t. I hated him for lying to me: I really hated him, believe me. But, at the same time, a small part of me continued to feel something for him."

He turned to Stan.

"Even when I was on the other side of the portal," he continued, "I still longed for him, especially the early days. But I’ve always denied everything, I convinced myself to not feel anything except hate." he smiled, bitter. "I should’ve understood that no one can totally change what he feels in a couple of weeks. Or months." he bitted his lips. "Or years."

He sighed and lowered his head.

"I should’ve accepted and lived with my feelings, instead of denying them and force myself to hate him. I should’ve allowed myself to think about Bill more often, to remember the good times a little more. But I was blinded by my need to hate him, to pour on Bill all the rage I felt, to kill him and avenge myself."

He looked back at the horizon.

"And in the end, when he died, I thought it was all over. I thought that burning everything I had of him, would definitely end this. I had nothing more to hate, now that he was dead. No more love, no more hate. I thought that, with his death, anything that I’d ever felt for him was dead too. As if it were enough to make his images disappear, to erase all the memories from my mind."

Ford raised his eyes to the sky.

"Bill has been the subject of my deepest love and my utter hatred," he continued. "I must learn to come to terms with all this. I must accept that he was the center of my life for thirty years and that he still has a place inside me."

He looked at Stan.

"It’ll take some time. But I’ll learn to control those memories and not let myself be overwhelmed again. And one day, maybe, I'll stop thinking about him."

Silence fell again, lighter than before. The horizon was still far away, hiding their destination.

Stan put a hand on his shoulder. Ford leaned toward him, until he touched his brother’s head with his own. The corners of his lips lifted in a slight smile.

It would take time, to accept what Bill had been for him. But he was not alone: he had his family to protect him and he could not have asked for anything better.

* * *

"By tomorrow we’ll reach the epicenter of the weirdness." Ford enlarged the holographic map.

Stan, on the other side of the table, approached and pointed his finger at the center.

"It’s not far from the coast." he traced with his finger the outline of Antarctica. "Could we get there by foot?"

"It’ll take just a couple of hours," Ford confirmed. "We'll dock here." he pointed to a bay on the icy coast. “And we’ll head to the inland.”

"What if we find some scientists’ research base? What do we tell ’em?"

"We won’t meet them." Ford reduced the map "The main bases are east and west, towards  America and the Indian Ocean. We come from north, so we won’t meet anyone."

"And when we’ll head inside?" Stan pointed to the center of Antarctica. "There’s a base here too, isn’t it?"

"Yes, but we won’t go  _ so much  _ inside. Our destination is closer."

Ford sighed, looking at the flashing green dot. Stan gave him a friendly punch on the arm.

"What’s up? Scared of what we’ll find?"

"I'm worried, rather."

Stan spread his arms.

"Take it easy, brainiac!" he laughed. "It doesn’t mean we’ll find something dangerous! Maybe we won’t find anything at all and this was just some interference."

"This powerful?" Ford laughed with him and shook his head. "I doubt it. However, there’s still time, since we won’t be there before tomorrow."

"Exactly." Stan sat on the chair in front of him. "So, what do you think about sitting down and takin’ easy?"

Ford turned off the holographic map.

"Okay." he sat down too, with a smile.

"Oooh, good." Stan stretched and rubbed his back. "Uuurgh, this cold is killing me. I should really start to work out again."

"Maybe you should."

"It's been a while since we found some giant creature. If there was any, I could start by punching them. Wait..." Stan blinked "There are penguins in Antarctica, right?"

"You can’t punch penguins, Stanley."

"Shush, just a couple. I bet if I can upset them, they’ll attack me first and then I'll have every reason to..."

"We won’t disturb any penguins. They would notice it."

"Of course they would notice it, otherwise why would I want to bait them?"

"Not penguins. The scientists."

Stan snorted.

"I could punch them too."

"The plan is to do not draw attention on us, not become criminals."

"I should’ve brought a punching bag, damn it. I saw a beautiful one, but then I thought it wasn’t necessary, considering all the creatures we were supposed to find! But, apart from some giant squid, these seas are really boring. And there's not even some nice dolls to chat with."

"Mermaids live mainly in tropical seas, not here."

"Then, once our adventure here ended, we’ll go to tropics," proposed Stan, excited like a kid, "We’ll solve some mystery here and there, bond with beautiful mermaids and relax on a sunny beach." he spread his arms and closed the eyes. He turned his face to the light above their heads, as if he were already lying in the Caribbean sun.

Ford felt his lips curve into a smile.

And, even if his chest still hurt, smiling made him feel better.

"Hey, Stan."

Stanley opened his eyes and looked back at him. Ford gave him a wider smile.

"Thank you."

Stan lowered his arms and gave him a brotherly pat on the shoulder. He stood up and stretched again.

"Hey, it's almost dinner time," he announced. "Would you like some fish soup?"

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


END

 

The sky was full of new stars that could never be seen on the other side of the Earth. They were scattered in billions against the blue and black background, sparkling like diamonds above the dark land of Antarctic.

At the wheel of the Stan O' War II, Stanley drove the boat along the coast, looking for the right bay to stop. Ford was in a deep sleep, free from the anxieties and thoughts of recent times: he was sleeping so deeply, that not even an earthquake would wake him. But it was better to be cautious anyway. He didn’t want to wake him up.

Here it was, the right creek. The docking point they established. Stan slowed again, let the boat slip silently on the icy black sea.

He stopped next to the block of frozen earth, left the wheel and threw the anchor directly to the ground: it sank for a while in the thick snow, the sound muffled. Even better.

Stan took his only baggage and jumped out of the Stan O' War: the soft snow dampened his impact with the ground, leaving him without a scratch. He stood up, brushed off the scraps of snow from his trousers and moved forward, his only baggage in one hand.

Ford talked about an interference so strong and powerful that was felt in America, on the other side of the globe. Such a strong interference could not have been caused by a simple remnant of the Weirdmageddon or something that filtered from the Nightmare Realm to that Dimension. There was nothing so powerful in the Nightmare Realm. That strangeness was a  _ consequence  _ of the Weirdmageddon.

He turned to the boat: it was still in the bay, the lights out. Fordsy was immersed in his beauty sleep and wouldn’t wake up before dawn. He breathed in the cold polar air and his breath immediately became snow crystals. Uh, it was really cold there. Maybe he should have worn a scarf: he didn’t feel his nose anymore. Ops.

He continued to walk in the snow, aiming for the source of interference. Fordsy would really have to switch to better technologies, since his watch had marked the source of interference too much inside, too far from the glaciers that stood close to the Antarctic coast. It was  _ there  _ the source of the signal he had picked up.

Because if he had read his books better, he would have remembered something like that. Something about a glacier in Antarctica, inside which there was an enormous, evil, time-devouring creature of another Dimension, which would rise again in the future to conquer Earth.

His arm ached from the weight. Stan moved the Quantum Destabilizer to the other hand. He put his finger back on the trigger and hummed between his teeth in the cold arctic air.

_ "We'll meet again. Don’t know where, don’t know when..." _


End file.
